HE     LACK 

ION    NN 


BY  ALFRED  HENRY  LEWIS 


THE 

BLACK  LION 

INN 


BY 


ALFRED  HENRY  LEWIS 

Illustrated   by    FREDERIC    REMINGTON 


NEW  TORK 

R.  H.  RUSSELL 

1903 


Copyright,  1903 
By  ROBERT  HOWARD  RUSSELL 

Published  May,  1903. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  How  I  CAME  TO  THE  INN i 

II.  THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI      ...  10 

III.  How  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED      .  29 

IV.  THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET 41 

V.  THE  SIGN  OF  THREE 55 

VI.  THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS      ....  69 

VII.  THE  PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY   ....  82 

VIII.  THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS   ....  103 

IX.  CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA 117 

X.  How  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK.     .     .     .  129 

XI.  THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK 141 

XII.  THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'CANDLAS    .     .     .  158 

XIII.  How  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  His  BILL      .     .  170 

XIV.  How  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR.     .     .     .  195 

XV.  How  MOH-KWA  FED  THE  CATFISH      .     .  208 

XVI.  THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS 224 

XVII.  THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN     .     .     .  238 

XVIII.  THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY 249 

XIX.  MOH-KWA    AND    THE    THREE    GlFTS  .        .       .  261 

XX.  THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS.     .     .     .  274 

XXI.  THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS  .     .     .  289 

iii 


CHAPTER 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 


CONTENTS. 

How  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST  .  .  . 
WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN  .  .  . 
WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED  . 

HOW    THE    FlLIBUSTERER    SAILED     . 

How  MOH-KWA  SAVED  THE  STRIKE-AXE    357 


PAGE 
300 

316 
331 
342 


XXVII.  THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY 


369 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE    BLACK    LION    INN Frontispiece 

THE    SAUCY    PAOLI Facing  p.    12 

THE  PONCA'S  ROAN 24 

FORKED  TONGUE  36 

OLD  MAN  ENRIGHT 70 

THE  DUBLIN  TERROR 92 

"THE  ELK  FEAR  WAS  IN  HIS  HEART"  .  .  .  132 

JIM    BRITT 172 

THE    OPENHAND 2IO 

THE    COLDHEART 22O 

KWA-SIND "           262 

THE    MEDICINE    MAN 270 

COLONEL    MORTON  332 

THE    STRIKE-AXE 358 

CHICKEN    BILL 370 

PIKE'S    PEAK   MARTIN 378 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

HOW    I    CAME    TO   THE    INN. 

Years  ago,  I  came  upon  an  old  and  hoary  tavern 
when  I  as  a  fashion  of  refugee  was  flying  from 
strong  drink.  Its  name,  as  shown  on  the  creak 
ing  sign-board,  was  The  Black  Lion  Inn.  My 
coming  was  the  fruit  of  no  plan ;  the  hostelry  was 
strange  to  me,  and  my  arrival,  casual  and  desul 
tory,  one  of  those  accidents  which  belong  with 
the  experiences  of  folk  who,  whipped  of  a  bad 
appetite  and  running  from  rum,  are  seeking  only 
to  be  solitary  and  win  a  vacation  for  their  self- 
respect.  This  latter  commodity  in  my  own  poor 
case  had  been  sadly  overworked,  and  called  for 
rest  and  an  opportunity  of  recuperation.  Where 
fore,  going  quietly  and  without  word  from  the 
great  city,  I  found  this  ancient  inn  with  a  pur 
pose  to  turn  presently  sober.  Also  by  remaining 
secluded  for  a  space  I  would  permit  the  memory 
of  those  recent  dubious  exploits  of  the  cup  to 
i  i 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

become  a  bit  dimmed-  in  the  bosom  of  my  dis 
couraged  relatives. 

it  turned  a  most  fortunate  blunder,  this  blun 
dering  discovery  of  the  aged  inn,  for  it  was  here 
I  met  the  Jolly  Doctor  who,  by  saving  me  from 
my  fate  of  a  drunkard,  a  fate  to  which  I  was  hope 
lessly  surrendered,  will  dwell  ever  in  my  thoughts 
as  a  greatest  benefactor. 

There  is  that  about  an  appetite  for  alcohol  I 
can  not  understand.  In  my  personal  instance 
there  is  reason  to  believe  it  was  inherited.  And 
yet  my  own  father  never  touched  a  drop  and  lived 
and  died  the  uncompromising  enemy  of  the  bowl. 
It  was  from  my  grandsire,  doubtless,  I  had  any 
hankering  after  rum,  for  I  have  heard  a  sigh  or 
two  of  how  that  dashing  military  gentleman  so  de 
voted  himself  to  it  that  he  fairly  perished  for  very 
faithfulness  as  far  away  as  eighty  odd  long  years. 

Once  when  my  father  and  I  were  roaming  the 
snow-filled  woods  with  our  guns — I  was  a  lad  of 
twelve — having  heard  little  of  that  ancestor,  I 
asked  him  what  malady  carried  off  my  grandsire. 
My  father  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  stalked  silent 
ly  ahead,  rifle  caught  under  arm,  the  snow  crunch 
ing  beneath  his  heavy  boots.  Then  he  flung  a 
sentence  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Poor  whiskey  more  than  anything  else,"  said 
my  father. 

Even  at  the  unripe  age  of  twelve  I  could  tell 
how  the  subject  was  unpleasant  to  my  parent  and 

2 


HOW  I  CAME  TO  THE  INN. 

did  not  press  it.  I  saved  my  curiosity  until  even 
ing  when  my  mother  and  I  were  alone.  My 
mother,  to  whom  I  re-put  the  query,  informed  me 
in  whispers  how  she  had  been  told — for  she  never 
met  him,  he  being  dead  and  gone  before  her  day 
— my  grandsire  threw  away  his  existence  upon 
the  bottle. 

The  taste  for  strong  waters  so  developed  in  my 
grandsire  would  seem  like  a  quartz-ledge  to  have 
''dipped"  beneath  my  father  to  strike  the  family 
surface  with  all  its  old-time  richness  in  myself.  I 
state  this  the  more  secure  of  its  truth  because  I 
was  instantly  and  completely  a  drunkard,  waiving 
every  preliminary  stage  as  a  novice,  from  the 
moment  of  my  first  glass. 

It  was  my  first  day  of  the  tavern  when  I  met 
the  Jolly  Doctor.  The  tavern  was  his  home — 
for  he  lived  a  perilous  bachelor — and  had  been 
many  years ;  and  when,  being  in  a  shaken  state, 
I  sent  down  from  the  apartments  I  had  taken 
and  requested  the  presence  of  a  physician,  he 
came  up  to  me.  He  had  me  right  and  on  my 
feet  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  and  then  I  began 
to  look  him  in  the  face  and  make  his  acquaintance. 

As  I  abode  in  the  tavern  for  a  considerable 
space,  we  put  in  many  friendly  hours  together. 
The  Jolly  Doctor  was  a  round,  strong,  active 
body  of  a  man,  virile  and  with  an  atmosphere  al 
most  hypnotic.  His  forehead  was  good,  his  jaw 
hard,  his  nose  arched,  while  his  gray-blue  eyes, 

3 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

half  sour,  half  humorous  and  deeply  wise  of  the 
world,  gleamed  in  his  head  with  the  shine  of  beads. 

One  evening  while  we  were  together  about  the 
fireplace  of  my  parlor,  I  was  for  having  up  a 
bottle  of  sherry. 

"  Before  you  give  the  order,"  said  the  Jolly 
Doctor,  restraining  me  with  a  friendly  yet  semi- 
professional  gesture,  "  let  me  say  a  word.  Let 
me  ask  whether  you  have  an  intention  or  even  a 
hope  of  one  day — no  matter  how  distant — quit 
ting  alcohol  ?  "  Without  pausing  for  my  answer, 
the  Jolly  Doctor  went  on.  "  You  are  yet  a  young 
man;  I  suppose  you  have  seen  thirty  years.  It 
has  been  my  experience,  albeit  I'm  but  fifteen 
years  your  senior  and  not  therefore  as  old  as  a 
hill,  that  no  man  uproots  a  habit  after  he  has 
reached  middle  age.  While  climbing,  mentally, 
physically,  nervously,  the  slope  of  his  years  and 
adding  to,  not  taking  from,  his  strength,  a  man 
may  so  far  re-draw  himself  as  to  make  or  break 
an  appetite — the  appetite  of  strong  drink — if  you 
will.  But  let  him  attain  the  summit  of  his 
strength,  reach  as  it  were  the  crest  of  his  days 
and  begin  to  travel  down  the  easy  long  descent 
toward  the  grave,  and  every  chance  of  change 
has  perished  beyond  his  reach.  You  are  thirty; 
and  to  make  it  short,  my  friend,  you  must,  con 
sidering  what  bottle  tendencies  lie  latent  within 
you,  stop  now  and  stop  hard,  or  you  are  lost  for 
ever." 


HOW  I  CAME  TO  THE  INN. 

To  say  I  was  impressed  is  not  to  exaggerate. 
I  was  frank  enough  to  confess,  however,  that 
privately  I  held  no  hope  of  change.  Several  years 
before,  I  had  become  convinced,  after  a  full  survey 
of  myself  and  the  close  study  of  my  inclinations, 
that  I  was  born  to  live  and  die,  like  my  grandsire, 
the  victim  of  drink.  I  was  its  thrall,  bound  to  it 
as  I  lay  in  my  cradle ;  there  existed  no  gate  of 
escape.  This  I  told;  not  joyously,  I  promise  you, 
or  as  one  reciting  good  fortune ;  not  argumenta- 
tively  and  as  reason  for  the  forthcoming  of  asked- 
for  wine ;  but  because  it  was  true  and  made,  as  I 
held  it,  a  reason  for  going  in  this  matter  of  tipple 
with  freest  rein  since  dodge  or  balk  my  fate  I 
might  not. 

At  the  close  my  Jolly  Doctor  shook  his  head 
in  negative. 

"  No  man  knows  his  destiny,"  said  he,  "until 
the  game  's  played  out.  Come,  let  me  prescribe 
for  you.  The  drug  I  have  in  mind  has  cured  folk ; 
I  should  add,  too,  that  for  some  it  carries  neither 
power  nor  worth.  Still,  it  will  do  no  harm,  and 
since  we  may  have  a  test  of  its  virtues  within 
three  days ;  at  the  worst  you  will  be  called  upon 
to  surrender  no  more  than  seventy-two  hours  to 
sobriety."  This  last  was  delivered  like  a  cynic. 

On  my  side,  I  not  only  thanked  the  Jolly  Doctor 
for  his  concern,  but  hastened  to  assure  him  I 
would  willingly  make  pact  to  abstain  from  alcohol 
not  three  days,  but  three  weeks  or  three  months, 

5 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

were  it  necessary  to  pleasure  his  experiment.  My 
bent  for  drink  was  in  that  degree  peculiar  that  I 
was  not  so  much  its  disciple  who  must  worship 
constantly  and  every  day,  as  one  of  those  who  are 
given  to  sprees.  Often  and  of  choice  I  was  a 
stranger  to  so  much  as  the  odor  of  rum  for  weeks 
on  end.  Then  would  come  other  weeks  of  tumult 
and  riot  and  drunkenness.  The  terms  of  trial  for 
his  medicine  would  be  easily  and  comfortably 
undergone  by  me.  He  had  my  promise  of  three 
days  free  of  rum. 

The  Jolly  Doctor  went  to  his  room ;  returning, 
he  placed  on  the  table  a  little  bottle  of  liquid, 
reddish  in  color  and  bitter  of  taste. 

"  Red  cinchona,  it  is,"  said  the  Jolly  Doctor; 
"cinchona  rubra,  or  rather  the  fluid  extract  of  that 
bark.  It  is  not  a  tincture ;  there  is  no  alcohol 
about  it.  The  remedy  is  well  known  and  I  oft 
marvel  it  has  had  no  wider  vogue.  As  I've  told 
you,  and  on  the  principle,  probably,  that  one 
man's  poison  is  another  man's  food,  it  does  not 
always  cure.  However,  we  will  give  you  a  tea- 
spoonful  once  in  three  hours  and  observe  the 
effect  in  your  particular  case." 

There  shall  be  little  more  related  on  this  point 
of  dypsomania  and  its  remedy.  I  took  the  pre 
scription  for  a  trio  of  days.  At  the  expiration  I 
sate  me  solemnly  down  and  debated  within  my 
self  whether  or  no  I  craved  strong  drink,  with  the 
full  purpose  of  calling  for  it  if  I  did.  Absolutely, 

6 


HOW  I  CAME  TO  THE  INN. 

the  anxiety  was  absent;  and  since  I  had  resolved 
not  to  force  the  bottle  upon  myself,  but  to  give 
the  Jolly  Doctor  and  his  drug  all  proper  show  to 
gain  a  victory,  I  made  no  alcohol  demands.  All 
this  was  years  ago,  and  from  that  hour  until  now, 
when  I  write  these  lines,  I've  neither  taken  nor 
wanted  alcohol.  I've  gone  freely  where  it  was, 
and  abode  for  hours  at  tables  when  others  poured 
and  tossed  it  off;  for  myself  I've  craved  none  and 
taken  none. 

Toward  the  last  of  my  stay,  there  came  to  dwell 
at  the  hostelry  a  goodly  circle;  one  for  a  most 
part  chance-sown.  For  days  it  had  been  snowing 
with  a  free,  persistent  hand ;  softly,  industriously, 
indomitably  fell  the  flakes,  straight  down  and  un- 
flurried  of  a  wind,  until  the  cold  light  element  lay 
about  the  tavern  for  a  level  depth  of  full  three 
feet.  It  was  the  sort  of  weather  in  which  one 
should  read  Whittier's  Snow-Bound. 

Our  circle,  as  snow-pent  and  held  within  door 
we  drew  about  the  tavern  fire,  offered  a  chequered 
citizenry.  On  the  earliest  occasion  of  our  com 
radeship,  while  the  snow  sifted  about  the  old- 
fashioned  panes  and  showed  through  them  with 
the  whiteness  of  milk,  I  cast  my  eye  over  the 
group  to  collect  for  myself  a  mental  picture  of 
my  companions. 

At  the  right  hand  of  the  Jolly  Doctor,  solid  in 
his  arm  chair,  sat  a  Red  Nosed  Gentleman.  He 
showed  prosperous  of  this  world's  goods  and 

7 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

owned  to  a  warm  weakness  for  burgundy.  He 
was  particular  to  keep  ever  a  bottle  at  his  elbow, 
and  constantly  supported  his  interest  in  what  was 
current  with  a  moderate  glass. 

In  sharpest  contrast  to  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man  there  should  be  mentioned  a  gray  old  gentle 
man  of  sour  and  forbidding  eye.  The  Jolly 
Doctor,  who  had  known  him  for  long,  gave  me 
in  a  whisper  his  story.  This  Sour  Gentleman, 
like  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  had  half  retired 
from  the  cares  of  business.  The  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman  in  his  later  days  had  been  a  stock  spec 
ulator,  as  in  sooth  had  the  Sour  Gentleman,  and 
each  would  still  on  occasion  carry  a  few  thousand 
shares  for  a  wreek  or  two  and  then  swoop  on  a 
profit  with  quite  the  eagerness  of  any  hawk  on 
any  hen. 

Not  to  be  overlooked,  in  a  corner  nearest  the 
chimney  was  a  seamed  white  old  figure,  tall  and 
spare,  yet  with  vigorous  thews  still  strung  in  the 
teeth  of  his  all  but  four  score  years.  He  was 
referred  to  during  our  amiable  captivity,  and  while 
we  sate  snow-locked  about  the  mighty  fire-place, 
as  the  Old  Cattleman. 

Half  comrade  and  half  ward,  our  Old  Cattleman 
had  with  him  a  taciturn,  grave  individual,  to  whom 
he  gave  the  title  of  "  Sioux  Sam,"  and  whose 
father,  he  informed  us,  had  been  a  French  trader 
from  St.  Louis,  while  his  mother  was  a  squaw  of 


8 


HOW  I  CAME  TO  THE  INN. 

the  tribe  that  furnished  the  first  portion  of  his 
name. 

As  we  brought  arm  chairs  about  the  fire-place 
on  our  first  snow-bound  evening,  moved  possibly 
by  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman's  burgundy,  which 
that  florid  person  had  urged  upon  his  attention, 
the  Jolly  Doctor  set  the  little  community  a  good 
story-telling  example. 

"  This  story,  I  should  premise,"  said  the  Jolly 
Doctor,  mollifying  certain  rawnesses  of  his  throat 
with  a  final  glass  of  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman's 
burgundy,  "  belongs  to  no  experience  of  my  own. 
I  shall  tell  it  as  it  was  given  me.  It  speaks 
broadly  of  the  west  and  of  the  folk  of  cows  and 
the  Indians,  and  was  set  uppermost  in  my  memory 
by  the  presence  of  our  western  friends."  Here 
the  Jolly  Doctor  indicated  the  Old  Cattleman  and 
that  product  of  the  French  fur  trader  and  his 
Indian  wife,  Sioux  Sam,  by  a  polite  wave  of  his 
glass.  Then  tossing  off  the  last  of  his  burgundy 
he,  without  tedious  preliminary,  struck  into  his 
little  history. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   WINNING   OF   SAUCY   PAOLI. 

Gray  Wolf  sits  within  the  shadow  of  the  agency 
cottonwood  and  puffs  unhappy  kinnikinic  from 
his  red  stone  pipe.  Heavy,  dull  and  hot  lies  the 
August  afternoon;  heavy,  dull  and  hot  lies  the 
heart  of  Gray  Wolf.  There  is  a  profound  grief 
at  his  soul's  roots.  The  Indian's  is  not  a  mobile 
face.  In  full  expression  it  is  capable  only  of 
apathy  or  rage.  If  your  Indian  would  show  you 
mirth  or  woe,  he  must  eke  out  the  dim  and  half- 
told  story  with  streaks  of  paint.  But  so  deep  is 
the  present  sorrow  of  Gray  Wolf  that,  even  with 
out  the  aid  of  graphic  ochre,  one  reads  some 
shadow  of  it  in  the  wrinkled  brows  and  brooding 
eyes. 

What  is  this  to  so  beat  upon  our  dismal  Osage? 
There  is  a  dab  of  mud  in  his  hair;  his  blanket  is 
rags,  and  his  moccasins  are  rusty  and  worn. 
These  be  weeds  of  mourning.  Death  has  crept 
to  the  tepee  of  Gray  Wolf  and  taken  a  prey.  It 
was  Catbird,  the  squaw  of  Gray  Wolf. 

However,  his  to-day's  sadness  is  not  for  the 
departed  Catbird.  He  married  her  without  laugh 
ter,  and  saw  her  pass  without  tears,  as  became  a 

10 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

man  and  an  Osage.  When  her  breath  was  gone, 
the  women  combed  her  hair  and  dressed  her  in 
new,  gay  clothes,  and  burned  the  sacred  cedar. 
Gray  Wolf,  after  the  usage  of  his  fathers,  seated 
her — knees  to  chin — on  yonder  hilltop,  wrapped 
her  in  rawhides,  and,  as  against  the  curiosity  of 
coyotes  and  other  prowling  vermin  of  the  night, 
builded  her  solidly  about  and  over  with  heavy 
stones.  You  may  see  the  rude  mausole,  like  some 
tumbledown  chimney,  from  the  agency  door. 
That  was  a  moon  ago.  Another  will  go  by ;  Gray 
Wolf  will  lay  off  his  rags  and  tatters,  comb  the 
clay  from  his  hair,  and  give  a  dance  to  show  that 
he  mourns  no  more.  No,  it  is  not  the  lost  Cat 
bird — good  squaw  though  she  was — that  embit 
ters  the  tobacco  and  haunts  the  moods  of  Gray 
Wolf.  It  is  something  more  awful  than  death — 
that  merest  savage  commonplace;  something  to 
touch  the  important  fiber  of  pride. 

Gray  Wolf  is  proud,  as  indeed  he  has  concern 
to  be.  Not  alone  is  he  eminent  as  an  Osage;  he 
is  likewise  an  eminent  Indian.  Those  two  thin 
ragged  lines  of  blue  tattoo  which,  on  each  side 
from  the  point  of  the  jaw,  run  downward  on  the 
neck  until  they  disappear  beneath  his  blanket, 
prove  Gray  Wolf's  elevation.  They  are  the  marks 
of  an  aboriginal  nobility  whereof  the  paleface  in 
his  ignorance  knows  nothing.  Thirty  Indians  in 
all  the  tribes  may  wear  these  marks.  And  yet, 
despite  such  signs  of  respect,  Gray  Wolf  has  be- 

ii 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

come  the  subject  of  acrid  tribal  criticism ;  and  he 
feels  it  like  the  edge  of  a  knife. 

Keats  was  quill -pricked  to  death  by  critics. 
But  Keats  was  an  Englishman  and  a  poet.  Petro- 
nius  Arbiter,  Nero's  minion,  was  also  criticised; 
despite  the  faultfinder,  however,  he  lived  in  cloud 
less  merry  luxury,  and  died  laughing.  But  Petro- 
nius  was  a  Roman  and  an  epicure.  Gray  Wolf  is 
to  gain  nothing  by  these  examples.  He  would 
not  die  like  the  verse  maker,  he  could  not  laugh 
like  the  consul ;  there  is  a  gulf  between  Gray  Wolf 
and  these  as  wide  as  the  width  of  the  possible. 
Gray  Wolf  is  a  stoic,  and  therefore  neither  so 
callous  nor  so  wise  as  an  epicure.  Moreover,  he 
is  a  savage  and  not  a  poet.  Petronius  came  to  be 
nothing  better  than  an  appetite ;  Gray  Wolf  rises 
to  the  heights  of  an  emotion.  Keats  was  a  radi 
cal  of  sensibility,  ransacking  a  firmament;  Gray 
Wolf  is  an  earthgoing  conservative — a  more  stu 
pendous  Tory  than  any  Bolingbroke.  Of  the  two, 
while  resembling  neither,  Gray  Wolf  comes  nearer 
the  poet  than  the  Sybarite,  since  he  can  feel. 

Let  it  be  remarked  that  Osage  criticism  is  no 
trivial  thing.  It  is  so  far  peculiar  that  never  a 
word  or  look,  or  even  a  detractory  shrug  is  made 
to  be  its  evidence.  Your  Osage  tells  no  evil 
tales  of  you  to  his  neighbor.  His  conduct  goes 
guiltless  of  slanderous  syllable  or  gesture.  But 
he  criticises  you  in  his  heart;  he  is  strenuous  to 
think  ill  of  you ;  and  by  some  fashion  of  telepathy 

12 


THE  SAUCY  PAOLI. 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

you  know  and  feel  and  burn  with  this  tacit  con 
demnation  as  much  as  ever  you  might  from  hot 
irons  laid  on  your  forehead.  It  is  this  criticism, 
as  silent  as  it  is  general,  that  gnaws  at  Gray 
Wolf's  heart  and  makes  his  somber  visage  more 
somber  yet. 

It  was  the  week  before  when  Gray  Wolf,  puffed 
of  a  vain  conceit,  matched  Sundown,  his  pinto 
pony — swift  as  a  winter  wind,  he  deemed  her — 
against  a  piebald,  leggy  roan,  the  property  of 
Dull  Ox,  the  cunning  Ponca.  The  race  had  wide 
advertisement;  it  took  shape  between  the  Osages 
and  the  Poncas  as  an  international  event.  Gray 
Wolf  assured  his  tribe  of  victory;  his  Sundown 
was  a  shooting  star,  the  roan  a  turtle ;  whereupon 
the  Osages,  ever  ready  as  natural  patriots  to  be 
lieve  the  worst  Osage  thing  to  be  better  than  the 
best  thing  Ponca,  fatuously  wagered  their  sub 
stance  on  Sundown,  even  unto  the  beads  on  their 
moccasins. 

The  race  was  run;  the  ubiquitous  roan,  fleeter 
than  a  shadow,  went  by  poor  Sundown  as  though 
she  ran  with  hobbles  on.  Dull  Ox  won;  the 
Poncas  won.  The  believing  Osages  were  stripped 
of  their  last  blanket;  and  even  as  Gray  Wolf  sits 
beneath  the  agency  cottonwood  and  writhes  while 
he  considers  what  his  pillaged  countrymen  must 
think  of  him,  the  exultant  Poncas  are  in  the  midst 
of  a  protracted  spree,  something  in  the  nature 
of  a  scalp  dance,  meant  to  celebrate  their  triumph 

13 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

and  emphasize  the  thoroughness  wherewith  the 
Osages  were  routed.  Is  it  marvel,  then,  that 
Osage  thought  is  full  of  resentment,  or  that  Gray 
Wolf  feels  its  sting? 

Over  across  from  the  moody  Gray  Wolf,  Bill 
Henry  lounges  in  the  wide  doorway  of  Florer's 
agency  store.  Bill  Henry  is  young,  about  twenty- 
three,  in  truth.  He  has  a  quick,  handsome  face, 
with  gray  eyes  that  dance  and  gleam,  and  promise 
explosiveness  of  temper.  The  tan  that  darkens 
Bill  Henry's  skin  wherever  the  sun  may  get  to  it, 
and  which  is  comparable  to  the  color  of  a  saddle 
or  a  law  book,  testifies  that  the  vivacious  Bill  is 
no  recent  importation.  Five  full  years  on  the 
plains  would  be  needed  to  ripen  one  to  that  dur 
able  hue. 

Bill  gazes  out  upon  Gray  Wolf  as  the  latter 
sticks  to  the  cottonwood's  shade  ;  a  plan  is  running 
in  the  thoughts  of  Bill.  There  is  call  for  change 
in  Bill's  destinies,  and  he  must  have  the  Gray 
Wolf's  consent  to  what  he  bears  in  mind. 

Bill  has  followed  cattle  since  he  turned  his  back 
on  Maryland,  a  quintet  of  years  before,  and  pushed 
westward  two  thousand  miles  to  commence  a 
career.  Bill's  family  is  of  that  aristocracy  which 
adorns  the  "  Eastern  Shore"  of  Lord  Baltimore's 
old  domain.  His  folk  are  of  consequence,  and 
intended  that  Bill  should  take  a  high  position. 
Bill's  mother,  an  ardent  church  woman,  had  a 
pulpit  in  her  thoughts  for  Bill ;  his  father,  more 

14 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

of  the  world,  urged  on  his  son  the  law.  But  Bill's 
bent  was  towards  the  laws  neither  of  heaven  nor 
of  men.  The  romantic  overgrew  the  practical  in 
his  nature.  He  leaned  not  to  labor,  whether 
mental  or  physical,  and  he  liked  danger  and 
change  and  careless  savageries. 

Civilization  is  artificial;  it  is  a  creature  of  con 
vention,  of  clocks,  of  hours,  of  an  unending  pro 
cession  of  sleep,  victuals  and  work.  Bill  dis 
tasted  such  orderly  matters  and  felt  instinctive 
abhorrence  therefor.  The  day  in  and  day  out 
effort  called  for  to  remain  civilized  terrified  Bill; 
his  soul  gave  up  the  task  before  it  was  begun. 

But  savagery?  Ah,  that  was  different!  Sav 
agery  was  natural,  easy  and  comfortable  to  the 
very  heart's  blood  of  Bill,  shiftless  and  wild  as  it 
ran.  Bill  was  an  instance  of  what  wise  folk  term 
"reversion  to  type,"  and  thus  it  befell,  while  his 
father  tugged  one  way  and  his  mother  another, 
Bill  himself  went  suddenly  from  under  their  hands, 
fled  from  both  altar  and  forum,  and  never  paused 
until  he  found  himself  within  the  generous  reaches 
of  the  Texas  Panhandle.  There,  as  related,  and 
because  savagery  cannot  mean  entire  idleness, 
Bill  gave  himself  to  a  pursuit  of  cows,  and  soon 
had  moderate  fame  as  a  rider,  a  roper,  a  gambler, 
and  a  quick,  sure  hand  with  a  gun,  and  for  what 
ever  was  deemed  excellent  in  those  regions 
wherein  he  abode. 

Bill's  presence  among  the  Osages  is  the  upcome 
15 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

of  a  dispute  which  fell  forth  between  Bill  and  a 
comrade  in  a  barroom  of  Mobeetie.  Bill  and  the 
comrade  aforesaid  played  at  a  device  called  ''draw 
poker;"  and  Bill,  in  attempting  to  supply  the  de 
ficiencies  of  a  four  flush  with  his  six  shooter,  man 
aged  the  other's  serious  wounding.  This  so 
shook  Bill's  standing  in  the  Panhandle,  so  marked 
him  to  the  common  eye  as  a  boy  of  dangerous 
petulance,  that  Bill  sagely  withdrew  between  two 
days ;  and  now,  three  hundred  miles  to  the  north 
and  east,  he  seeks  among  the  Indians  for  liewer 
pastures  more  serene. 

When  we  meet  him  Bill  has  been  with  the 
Osages  the  space  of  six  weeks.  And  already  he 
begins  to  doubt  his  welcome.  Not  that  the 
Osages  object.  Your  Indian  objects  to  nothing 
that  does  not  find  shape  as  an  immediate  personal 
invasion  of  himself.  But  the  government  agent 
— a  stern,  decisive  person — likes  not  the  presence 
of  straggling  whites  among  his  copper  charges; 
already  has  he  made  intimation  to  Bill  that  his 
Osage  sojourn  should  be  short.  Any  moment 
this  autocrat  may  despatch  his  marshal  to  march 
Bill  off  the  reservation. 

Bill  does  not  enjoy  the  outlook.  Within  the 
brief  frontiers  of  those  six  weeks  of  his  visit,  Bill 
has  contracted  an  eager  fondness  for  Osage  life. 
Your  Indian  is  so  far  scriptural  that  he  taketh 
scant  heed  of  the  morrow,  and  believeth  with  all 
his  soul  that  sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil 

16 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

thereof.  Here  was  a  program  to  dovetail  with 
those  natural  moods  of  Bill.  His  very  being, 
when  once  it  understood,  arose  on  tiptoe  to  em 
brace  it.  Bill  has  become  an  Osage  in  his  breast; 
as  he  poses  with  listless  grace  in  Florer's  portals, 
he  is  considering  means  whereby  he  may  manage 
a  jointure  with  the  tribe,  and  become  in  actual 
truth  a  member. 

There  is  but  one  door  to  his  coming;  Bill  must 
wed  his  way  into  Osage  citizenship.  He  must 
take  a  daughter  of  the  tribe  to  wife ;  turn  "squaw 
man,"  as  it  is  called.  Then  will  Bill  be  a  full 
blown  Osage;  then  may  no  agent  molest  him  or 
make  him  afraid. 

This  amiable  plot,  as  he  lounges  in  Florer's 
door,  is  already  decided  upon  by  Bill.  His  fancy 
has  even  pitched  upon  the  damsel  whom  he  will 
honor  with  the  title  of  "  Mrs.  Bill."  It  is  this 
selection  that  produces  Gray  Wolf  as  a  factor  in 
Bill's  intended  happiness,  since  Gray  Wolf  is  the 
parent  of  the  Saucy  Paoli,  to  whom  Bill's  hopes 
are  turned.  Bill  must  meet  and  treat  with  Gray 
Wolf  for  his  daughter,  discover  her  "price,"  and 
pay  it. 

As  to  the  lady  herself  and  her  generous  con 
sent  when  once  her  father  is  won,  Bill  harbors  no 
misgivings.  He  believes  too  well  of  his  hand 
some  person;  moreover,  has  he  not  demonstrated 
in  friendly  bout,  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  his 
superiority  to  the  young  Osage  bucks  who  would 

3  17 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

pit  themselves  against  him  ?  Has  he  not  out-run, 
out-wrestled  and  out-ridden  them?  And  at  work 
with  either  rifle,  six-shooter  or  knife,  has  he  not 
opened  their  eyes?  Also,  he  has  conquered  them 
at  cards;  and  their  money  and  their  ponies  and 
their  gewgaws  to  a  healthful  value  are  his  as 
spoils  thereof. 

Bill  is  all  things  that  a  lady  of  sensibility  should 
love ;  and  for  that  on  those  two  or  three  occasions 
when  he  came  unexpectedly  upon  her,  the  Saucy 
Paoli  dodged  within  the  ancestral  lodge  to  daub 
her  nose  and  cheeks  with  hurried  yet  graceful 
red,  thereby  to  improve  and  give  her  beauties 
point,  Bill  knows  he  has  touched  her  heart.  Yes, 
forsooth!  Bill  feels  sure  of  the  Saucy  Paoli;  it 
is  Gray  Wolf,  somber  of  his  late  defeat  by  the 
wily  Dull  Ox  and  the  evanescent  roan,  toward 
whom  his  apprehensions  turn  their  face.  The 
more,  perhaps,  since  Bill  himself,  not  being  a 
blinded  Osage,  and  having  besides  some  certain 
wit  concerning  horses,  scrupled  not  to  wager  and 
win  on  the  Ponca  entry,  and  against  the  beloved 
Sundown  of  his  father-in-law  to  come.  It  is  the 
notion  that  Gray  Wolf  might  resent  this  apostasy 
that  breeds  a  half  pause  in  Bill's  optimism  as  he 
loafs  in  Florer's  door. 

As  Bill  stands  thus  musing,  the  Saucy  Paoli 
goes  by.  The  Saucy  Paoli  is  light,  pretty,  round 
and  wholesome,  and  she  glances  with  shy,  engag 
ing  softness  on  Bill  from  eyes  as  dark  and  big 

18 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

and  deep  as  a  deer's.  Is  it  not  worth  while  to 
wed  her?  The  Osages  are  owners  in  fee  of  one 
million,  five  hundred  thousand  acres  of  best  land ; 
they  have  eight  even  millions  of  dollars  stored  in 
the  Great  Father's  strong  chests  in  Washington; 
they  are  paid  each  one  hundred  and  forty  dollars 
by  their  fostering  Great  Father  as  an  annual 
present;  and  the  head  of  the  house  draws  all  for 
himself  and  his  own.  Marriage  will  mean  an 
instant  yearly  income  of  two  hundred  and  eighty 
dollars;  moreover,  there  may  come  the  profitable 
papoose,  and  with  each  such  a  money  augmenta 
tion  of  one  hundred  and  forty  dollars.  And  again, 
there  are  but  sixteen  hundred  Osages  told  and 
counted;  and  so  would  Bill  gain  a  strong  per 
cent,  in  the  tribal  domain  and  the  tribal  treasure. 
Altogether,  a  union  with  the  fair,  brown  Saucy 
Paoli  is  a  prospect  fraught  of  sunshine;  and  so 
Bill  wisely  deems  it. 

For  an  hour  it  has  leaped  in  Bill's  thoughts  as 
an  impulse  to  go  across  to  the  spreading  cotton- 
wood,  propose  himself  to  the  Gray  Wolf  for  the 
Saucy  Paoli,  and  elicit  reply.  It  would  not  be 
the  Osage  way,  but  Bill  is  not  yet  an  Osage,  and 
some  reasonable  allowance  should  be  made  by 
Gray  Wolf  for  the  rudeness  of  a  paleface  educa 
tion.  Such  step  would  earn  an  answer,  certain 
and  complete.  Your  savage  beateth  not  about 
the  bush.  His  diplomacy  is  Bismarckian;  it  is 
direct  and  proceeds  by  straight  lines. 

19 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Thus  chase  Bill's  cogitations  when  the  sudden 
sight  of  the  Saucy  Paoli  and  her  glances,  full  of 
wist  and  warmth,  fasten  his  gallant  fancy  and 
crystalize  a  resolution  to  act  at  once. 

"  How !  "  observes  Bill,  by  way  of  salutation, 
as  he  stands  before  Gray  Wolf. 

That  warrior  grunts  swinish,  though  polite, 
response.  Then  Bill  goes  directly  to  the  core  of 
his  employ;  he  explains  his  passion,  sets  forth 
his  hopes,  and  by  dashing  swoops  arrives  at  the 
point  which,  according  to  Bill's  blunt  theories, 
should  quicken  the  interest  of  Gray  Wolf,  and 
says : 

"  Now,  what  price?     How  many  ponies?  " 

"  How  many  you  give  ?  "  retorts  the  cautious 
Gray  Wolf. 

"  Fifteen."     Bill  stands  ready  to  go  to  thirty. 

"  Ugh !  "  observes  Gray  Wolf,  and  then  he  looks 
out  across  the  prairie  grasses  where  the  thick 
smoke  shows  the  summer  fires  to  be  burning 
them  far  away. 

"  Thirty  ponies,"  says  Bill  after  a  pause. 

These  or  their  money  equivalent — six  hundred 
dollars — Bill  knows  to  be  a  fat  figure.  He  be 
lieves  Gray  Wolf  will  yield. 

But  Bill  is  in  partial  error.  Gray  Wolf  is  not 
in  any  sordid,  money  frame.  Your  savage  is  a 
sentimentalist  solely  on  two  matters:  those  to 
touch  his  pride  and  those  to  wake  his  patriotism. 
And  because  of  the  recent  triumph  of  the  Poncas, 

20 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

and  the  consequent  censures  upon  him  now  flam 
ing,  though  hidden,  in  the  common  Osage  heart, 
Gray  Wolf's  pride  is  raw  and  throbbing.  He 
looks  up  at  Bill  where  he  waits. 

"  One  pony!"  says  Gray  Wolf. 

"One?" 

"  But  it  must  beat  the  Ponca's  roan." 

Four  hundred  miles  to  the  westward  lie  the 
broad  ranges  of  the  Triangle-Dot.  Throughout 
all  cow-land  the  ponies  of  the  Triangle-Dot  have 
name  for  speed.  As  far  eastward  as  the  Pan 
handle  and  westward  to  the  Needles,  as  far  south 
ward  as  Seven  Rivers  and  northward  to  the 
Spanish  Peaks,  has  their  fame  been  flung.  About 
camp  fires  and  among  the  boys  of  cows  are  tales 
told  of  Triangle-Dot  ponies  that  overtake  coyotes 
and  jack-rabbits.  More,  they  are  exalted  as 
having  on  a  time  raced  even  with  an  antelope. 
These  ponies  are  children  of  a  blue-grass  sire, 
as  thoroughbred  as  ever  came  out  of  Kentucky. 
Little  in  size,  yet  a  ghost  to  go ;  his  name  was 
Redemption.  These  speedy  mustang  babies  of 
Redemption  have  yet  to  meet  their  master  in  the 
whole  southwest.  And  Bill  knows  of  them;  he 
has  seen  them  run. 

"  In  two  moons,  my  father,"  says  Bill. 

There  is  much  creaking  of  saddle  leathers ; 
there  is  finally  a  deep  dig  in  the  flanks  by  the 
long  spurs,  and  Bill,  mounted  on  his  best,  rides 
out  of  Pauhauska.  His  blankets  are  strapped 

21 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

behind,  his  war  bags  bulge  with  provand,  he  is 
fully  armed;  of  a  verity,  Bill  meditates  a  journey. 
Four  hundred  miles — and  return — no  less,  to  the 
ranges  of  the  Triangle-Dot. 

Gray  Wolf  watches  from  beneath  the  cotton- 
wood  that  already  begins  to  throw  its  shadows 
long;  his  eyes  follow  Bill  until  the  latter's  broad 
brimmed,  gray  sombrero  disappears  on  the  hill- 
crests  over  beyond  Bird  River. 

It  skills  not  to  follow  Bill  in  this  pilgrimage. 
He  fords  rivers ;  he  sups  and  sleeps  at  casual 
camps ;  now  and  again  he  pauses  for  the  night  at 
some  chance  plaza  of  the  Mexicans;  but  first  and 
last  he  pushes  ever  on  and  on  at  a  round  road 
gait,  and  with  the  end  he  has  success. 

Within  his  time  by  full  three  weeks  Bill  is  again 
at  the  agency  of  the  Osages ;  and  with  him  comes 
a  pony,  lean  of  muzzle,  mild  of  eye,  wide  of  fore 
head,  deep  of  lung,  silken  of  mane,  slim  of  limb, 
a  daughter  of  the  great  Redemption ;  and  so  true 
and  beautiful  is  she  in  each  line  she  seems  rather 
for  air  than  earth.  And  she  is  named  the  Spirit. 

Gray  Wolf  goes  over  the  Spirit  with  eye  and 
palm.  He  feels  her  velvet  coat;  picks  up  one  by 
one  her  small  hoofs,  polished  and  hard  as  agate. 

The  Spirit  has  private  trial  with  Sundown  and 
leaves  that  hopeless  cayuse  as  if  the  latter  were 
pegged  to  the  prairie. 

"  Ugh !  "  says  Gray  Wolf,  at  the  finish.  "  Heap 
good  pony ! " 

22 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

Your  savage  is  not  a  personage  of  stop 
watches,  weights  and  records.  At  the  best,  he 
may  only  guess  concerning  a  pony's  performance. 
Also  his  vanity  has  wings,  though  his  pony  has 
none,  and  once  he  gets  it  into  his  savage  head 
that  his  pony  can  race,  it  is  never  long  ere  he 
regards  him  as  invincible.  Thus  is  it  with  Dull 
Ox  and  his  precious  roan.  That  besotted  Ponca 
promptly  accepts  the  Gray  Wolf  challenge  for  a 
second  contest. 

The  day  arrives.  The  race  is  to  be  run  on  the 
Osage  course — a  quarter  of  a  mile,  straight-away 
— at  the  Pauhauska  agency.  Two  thousand 
Osages  and  Poncas  are  gathered  together.  There 
is  no  laughter,  no  uproar,  no  loud  talk;  all  is 
gravity,  dignity  and  decorum.  The  stakes  are 
one  thousand  dollars  a  side,  for  Gray  Wolf  and 
Dull  Ox  are  opulent  pagans. 

The  ponies  are  brought  up  and  looked  over. 
The  fires  of  a  thousand  racing  ancestors  burn  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Spirit;  the  Poncas  should  take 
warning.  But  they  do  not;  wagers  run  higher. 
The  Osages  have  by  resolution  of  their  fifteen 
legislators  brought  the  public  money  to  the  field. 
Thus  they  are  rich  for  speculation,  where,  other 
wise,  by  virtue  of  former  losses,  they  would  be 
helpless  with  empty  hands. 

Bet  after  bet  is  made.  The  pool  box  is  a  red 
blanket  spread  on  the  grass.  It  is  presided  over 
by  a  buck,  impecunious  but  of  fine  integrity. 

23 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Being  moneyless,  he  will  make  no  bet  himself; 
being  honest,  he  will  faithfully  guard  the  treasure 
put  within  his  care.  A  sporting  buck  approaches 
the  blanket;  he  grumbles  a  word  or  two  in  the 
ear  of  the  pool  master  who  sits  at  the  blanket's 
head;  then  he  searches  forth  a  hundred-dollar 
bill  from  the  darker  recesses  of  his  blanket  and 
lays  it  on  the  red  betting-cloth.  Another  comes 
up;  the  pool  master  murmurs  the  name  of  the 
pony  on  which  the  hundred  is  offered;  it  is  cov 
ered  by  the  second  speculator ;  that  wager  is  com 
plete.  Others  arrive  at  the  betting  blanket;  its 
entire  surface  becomes  dotted  with  bank  notes — 
two  and  two  they  lie  together,  each  wagered 
against  the  other.  The  blanket  is  covered  and 
concealed  with  the  money  piled  upon  it.  One 
begins  to  wonder  how  a  winner  is  to  know  his 
wealth.  There  will  be  no  clash,  no  dispute. 
Savages  never  cheat ;  and  each  will  know  his  own. 
Besides,  there  is  the  poverty-eaten,  honest  buck, 
watching  all,  to  be  appealed  to  should  an  acci 
dental  confusion  of  wagers  occur. 

On  a  bright  blanket,  a  trifle  to  one  side — not 
to  be  under  the  moccasins  of  commerce,  as  it 
were — sits  the  Saucy  Paoli.  She  is  without 
motion;  and  a  blanket,  covering  her  from  little 
head  to  little  foot,  leaves  not  so  much  as  a  stray 
lock  or  the  tip  of  an  ear  for  one's  gaze  to  rest 
upon.  The  Saucy  Paoli  is  present  dutifully  to 
answer  the  outcome  of  the  Gray  Wolf's  pact  with 

24 


THE  PONCA'S  ROAN. 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

Bill.  One  wonders  how  does  her  heart  beat,  and 
how  roam  her  hopes?  Is  she  for  the  roan,  or 
is  she  for  the  Glory  of  the  Triangle-Dot  ? 

The  solemn  judges  draw  their  blankets  about 
them  and  settle  to  their  places.  Three  Poncas 
and  three  Osages  on  a  side  they  are;  they  seat 
themselves  opposite  each  other  with  twenty  feet 
between.  A  line  is  drawn  from  trio  to  trio;  that 
will  serve  as  wire.  The  pony  to  cross  first  will 
be  victor. 

Now  all  is  ready!  The  rival  ponies  are  at  the 
head  of  the  course;  it  will  be  a  standing  start. 
A  grave  buck  sits  in  the  saddle  near  the  two 
racers  and  to  their  rear.  He  is  the  starter.  Sud 
denly  he  cracks  off  a  Winchester,  skyward.  It 
is  the  signal. 

The  ponies  leap  like  panthers  at  the  sound. 
There  is  a  swooping  rush ;  for  one  hundred  yards 
they  run  together,  then  the  Spirit  takes  the  lead. 
Swifter  than  the  thrown  lance,  swift  as  the  sped 
arrow  she  comes  !  With  each  instant  she  leaves 
and  still  further  leaves  the  roan !  What  has  such 
as  the  mongrel  pony  of  the  Poncas  to  do  with 
the  Flower  of  the  Triangle-Dot?  The  Spirit 
flashes  between  the  double  triumvirate  of  judges, 
winner  by  fifty  yards ! 

And  now  one  expects  a  shout.  There  is  none. 
The  losing  Poncas  and  the  triumphant  Osages 
alike  are  stolid  and  dignified.  Only  Gray  Wolf's 
eyes  gleam,  and  the  cords  in  his  neck  swell.  He 

25 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

has  been  redeemed  with  his  people;  his  honor 
has  been  returned;  his  pride  can  again  hold  up 
its  head.  But  while  his  heart  may  bound,  his 
face  must  be  like  iron.  Such  is  the  etiquette  of 
savagery. 

Both  Gray  Wolf  and  the  Osages  will  exult 
later,  noisily,  vociferously.  There  will  be  feast 
ing  and  dancing.  Now  they  must  be  grave  and 
guarded,  both  for  their  own  credit  and  to  save 
their  Ponca  adversaries  from  a  wound. 

Bill  turns  and  rides  slowly  back  to  the  judges. 
The  Spirit,  daughter  of  Redemption,  stands  with 
fire  eyes  and  tiger  lily  nostrils.  Bill  swings  from 
the  saddle.  Gray  Wolf  throws  off  the  blanket 
from  the  Saucy  Paoli,  where  she  waits,  head 
bowed  and  silent.  Her  dress  is  the  climax  of 
Osage  magnificence ;  the  Saucy  Paoli  glows  like 
a  ruby  against  the  dusk  green  of  the  prairie.  Bill 
takes  the  Saucy  Paoli's  hand  and  raises  her  to 
her  feet. 

She  lifts  her  head.  Her  glance  is  shy,  yet 
warm  and  glad.  She  hesitates.  Then,  as  one 
who  takes  courage — just  as  might  a  white  girl, 
though  with  less  of  art — she  puts  up  her  lips  to  be 
kissed. 


"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  a  fair  story,"  com 
mented  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  approvingly 
when  the  Jolly  Doctor  came  to  a  pause;  "only  I 

26 


THE  WINNING  OF  SAUCY  PAOLI. 

don't  like  that  notion  of  a  white  man  marrying 
an  Indian.  It's  apt  to  keep  alive  in  the  children 
the  worst  characteristics  of  both  races  and  none 
of  the  virtues  of  either." 

"  Now  I  don't  know  that,"  observed  the  Sour 
Gentleman,  contentiously.  "  In  my  own  state  of 
Virginia  many  of  our  best  people  are  proud  to 
trace  their  blood  to  Pocahontas,  who  was  sold 
for  a  copper  kettle.  I,  myself,  am  supposed  to 
have  a  spoonful  of  the  blood  of  that  daughter  of 
Powhatan  in  my  veins ;  and  while  it  is  unpleasant 
to  recall  one's  ancestress  as  having  gone  from 
hand  to  hand  as  the  subject  of  barter  and  sale — 
and  for  no  mighty  price  at  that — I  cannot  say  I 
would  wish  it  otherwise.  My  Indian  blood  fits 
me  very  well.  Did  you  say" — turning  to  the 
Jolly  Doctor — "  did  you  say,  sir,  you  knew  this 
young  man  who  won  the  Saucy  Paoli  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "  I  am  guilt 
less  of  acquaintance  with  him.  The  story  came 
to  me  from  one  of  our  Indian  agents." 

While  this  talk  went  forward,  Sioux  Sam,  who 
understood  English  perfectly  and  talked  it  very 
well,  albeit  with  a  guttural  Indian  effect,  and  who 
had  listened  to  the  Jolly  Doctor's  story  with  every 
mark  of  interest,  was  saying  something  in  a  whis 
per  to  the  Old  Cattleman. 

"  He  tells  me,"  remarked  the  Old  Cattleman  in 
reply  to  my  look  of  curiosity,  "that  if  you-alls  don't 
mind,  he'll  onfold  on  you  a  Injun  tale  himse'f. 

27 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

It's  one  of  these  yere  folk-lore  stories,  I  suppose, 
as  Doc  Peets  used  to  call  'em." 

The  whole  company  made  haste  to  assure  Sioux 
Sam  that  his  proposal  was  deeply  the  popular  one ; 
thus  cheered,  our  dark-skinned  raconteur,  first 
lighting  his  pipe  with  a  coal  from  the  great  fire 
place,  issued  forth  upon  his  verbal  journey. 

"  An'  this,"  said  Sioux  Sam,  lifting  a  dark  finger 
to  invoke  attention  and  puffing  a  cloud  the  while, 
"an'  this  tale,  which  shows  how  Forked  Tongue, 
the  bad  medicine  man,  was  burned,  must  teach 
how  never  to  let  the  heart  fill  up  with  hate  like 
a  pond  with  the  rains,  nor  permit  the  tongue  to 
go  a  crooked  trail." 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOW    FORKED    TONGUE    WAS    BURNED. 

The  time  is  long,  long  ago.  Ugly  Elk  is  the 
great  chief  of  the  Sioux,  an'  he's  so  ugly  an'  his 
face  so  hideous,  he  makes  a  great  laugh  wherever 
he  goes.  But  the  people  are  careful  to  laugh  when 
the  Ugly  Elk's  back  is  toward  them.  If  they  went 
in  front  of  him  an'  laugh,  he'd  go  among  them 
with  his  stone  war-axe;  for  Ugly  Elk  is  sensitive 
about  his  looks. 

Ugly  Elk  is  the  warchief  of  the  Sioux  an'  keeps 
his  camp  on  the  high  bluffs  that  mark  the  south 
ern  border  of  the  Sioux  country  where  he  can 
look  out  far  on  the  plains  an'  see  if  the  Pawnees 
go  into  the  Sioux  hills  to  hunt.  Should  the  Paw 
nees  try  this,  then  Ugly  Elk  calls  up  his  young 
men  an'  pounces  on  the  Pawnees  like  a  coyote 
on  a  sage  hen,  an'  when  Ugly  Elk  gets  through, 
the  Pawnees  are  hard  to  find. 

It  turns  so,  however,  that  the  Pawnees  grow 
tired.  Ugly  Elk's  war  yell  makes  their  knees 
weak,  an'  when  they  see  the  smoke  of  his  fire 
they  turn  an'  run.  Then  Ugly  Elk  has  peace  in 
his  tepees  on  the  bluffs,  an'  eats  an'  smokes  an' 
counts  his  scalps  an'  no  Pawnee  comes  to  anger 

29 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

him.  An'  the  Sioux  look  up  to  him  as  a  mighty 
fighter,  an'  what  Ugly  Elk  says  goes  as  law  from 
east  to  west  an'  no'th  to  south  throughout  the 
country  of  the  Sioux. 

Ugly  Elk  has  no  sons  or  daughters  an'  all  his 
squaws  are  old  an'  dead  an'  asleep  forever  in  their 
rawhides,  high  on  pole  scaffolds  where  the  wolves 
can't  come.  An'  because  Ugly  Elk  is  lonesome 
an'  would  hear  good  words  about  his  lodge  an' 
feel  that  truth  is  near,  he  asks  his  nephew,  Run 
ning  Water,  to  live  with  him  when  now  the  years 
grow  deep  an'  deeper  on  his  head.  The  nephew 
is  named  Running  Water  because  there  is  no 
muddiness  of  lies  about  him,  an'  his  life  runs  clear 
an'  swift  an'  good.  Some  day  Running  Water 
will  be  chief,  an'  then  they  will  call  him  Kill-Bear, 
because  he  once  sat  down  an'  waited  until  a 
grizzly  came  up ;  an'  when  he  had  come  up,  Run 
ning  Water  offered  him  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  to 
bite;  an'  then  as  the  grizzly  took  it  between  his 
jaws,  Running  Water  blew  off  his  head.  An'  for 
that  he  was  called  Kill-Bear,  an'  made  chief.  But 
that  is  not  for  a  long  time,  an'  comes  after  Ugly 
Elk  has  died  an'  been  given  a  scaffold  of  poles 
with  his  squaws. 

Ugly  Elk  has  his  heart  full  of  love  for  Running 
Water  an'  wants  him  ever  in  his  sight  an'  to  hear 
his  voice.  Also,  he  declares  to  the  Sioux  that 
they  must  make  Running  Water  their  chief  when 
he  is  gone.  The  Sioux  say  that  if  he  will  fight 

30 


HOW  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED. 

the  Pawnees,  like  Ugly  Elk,  until  the  smoke  of 
his  camp  is  the  smoke  of  fear  to  the  Pawnees,  he 
shall  be  their  chief.  An'  because  Running  Water 
is  as  bold  as  he  is  true,  Ugly  Elk  accepts  the 
promise  of  the  Sioux  an'  rests  content  that  all 
will  be  as  he  asks  when  his  eyes  close  for  the 
long  sleep. 

But  while  Ugly  Elk  an'  Running  Water  are 
happy  for  each  other,  there  is  one  whose  heart 
turns  black  as  he  looks  upon  them.  It  is  Forked 
Tongue,  the  medicine  man;  he  is  the  cousin  of 
Ugly  Elk,  an'  full  of  lies  an'  treachery.  Also,  he 
wants  to  be  chief  when  that  day  comes  for  Ugly 
Elk  to  die  an'  go  away.  Forked  Tongue  feels 
hate  for  Running  Water,  an'  he  plans  to  kill  him. 

Forked  Tongue  talks  with  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise 
Bear,  an'  who  has  once  helped  Forked  Tongue 
with  his  medicine.  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  is 
very  wise  ;  also  he  wants  revenge  on  Forked 
Tongue,  who  promised  him  a  bowl  of  molasses 
an'  then  put  a  cheat  on  him. 

When  Forked  Tongue  powwows  with  Moh- 
Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear  thinks  now  he  will  have  ven 
geance  on  Forked  Tongue,  who  was  false  about 
the  molasses.  Thereupon,  he  rests  his  head  on 
his  paw,  an'  makes  as  if  he  thinks  an'  thinks;  an' 
after  a  long  while  he  tells  Forked  Tongue  what 
to  do. 

"  Follow  my  word,"  says  Moh-Kwa,  "an'  it 
will  bring  success." 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

But  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  doesn't  say  to 
whom  "success"  will  come;  nor  does  Forked 
Tongue  notice  because  liars  are  ever  quickest  to 
believe,  an'  there  is  no  one  so  easy  to  deceive  as 
a  treacherous  man.  Forked  Tongue  leaves  Moh- 
Kwa  an'  turns  to  carry  out  his  su'gestions. 

Forked  Tongue  talks  to  Ugly  Elk  when  they're 
alone  an'  touches  his  feelings  where  they're  sore. 

"  The  Running  Water  laughs  at  you,"  says 
Forked  Tongue  to  Ugly  Elk.  "  He  says  you  are 
more  hideous  than  a  gray  gaunt  old  wolf,  an' 
that  he  must  hold  his  head  away  when  you  an' 
he  are  together.  If  he  looked  at  you,  he  says, 
you  are  so  ugly  he  would  laugh  till  he  died." 

Then  the  Ugly  Elk  turned  to  fire  with  rage. 

"How  will  you  prove  that?"  says  Ugly  Elk 
to  Forked  Tongue. 

Forked  Tongue  is  ready,  for  Moh-Kwa  has 
foreseen  the  question  of  Ugly  Elk. 

"  You  may  prove  it  for  yourself,"  says  Forked 
Tongue.  "  When  you  an'  Running  Water  are 
together,  see  if  he  does  not  turn  away  his  head." 

That  night  it  is  as  Forked  Tongue  said.  Run 
ning  Water  looks  up  at  the  top  of  the  lodge,  or 
down  at  the  robes  on  the  ground,  or  he  turns  his 
back  on  Ugly  Elk;  but  he  never  once  rests  his 
eyes  on  Ugly  Elk  or  looks  him  in  the  face.  An' 
the  reason  is  this :  Forked  Tongue  has  told  Run 
ning  Water  that  Ugly  Elk  complained  that  Run 
ning  Water's  eye  was  evil ;  that  his  medicine  told 

32 


HOW  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED. 

him  this;  an'  that  he  asked  Forked  Tongue  to 
command  Running  Water  not  to  look  on  him,  the 
Ugly  Elk,  for  ten  wakes  an'  ten  sleeps,  when  the 
evil  would  have  gone  out  of  his  eye. 

"An'  the  Ugly  Elk,"  says  Forked  Tongue, 
"would  tell  you  this  himse'f,  but  he  loves  you  so 
much  it  would  make  his  soul  sick,  an'  so  he  asks 
me." 

Running  Water,  who  is  all  truth,  does  not  look 
for  lies  in  any  mouth,  an'  believes  Forked  Tongue, 
an'  resolves  for  ten  sleeps  an'  ten  wakes  not  to 
rest  his  eyes  on  Ugly  Elk. 

When  Ugly  Elk  notices  how  Running  Water 
will  not  look  on  him,  he  chokes  with  anger,  for 
he  remembers  he  is  hideous  an'  believes  that 
Running  Water  laughs  as  Forked  Tongue  has  told 
him.  An'  he  grows  so  angry  his  mind  is  dark 
ened  an'  his  heart  made  as  night.  He  seeks  out 
the  Forked  Tongue  an'  says: 

"  Because  I  am  weak  with  love  for  him,  I  can 
not  kill  him  with  my  hands.  What  shall  I  do,  for 
he  must  die?  " 

Then  Forked  Tongue  makes  a  long  think  an' 
as  if  he  is  hard  at  work  inside  his  head.  Then 
he  gives  this  counsel  to  Ugly  Elk: 

"  Send  to  your  hunters  where  they  are  camped 
by  the  river.  Say  to  them  by  your  runner  to 
seize  on  him  who  comes  first  to  them  in  the 
morning,  an'  tie  him  to  the  big  peeled  pine  an' 
burn  him  to  death  with  wood.  When  the  runner 

33 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

is  gone,  say  to  Running  Water  that  he  must  go 
to  the  hunters  when  the  sun  wakes  up  in  the  east 
an'  ask  them  if  they  have  killed  an'  cooked  the 
deer  you  sent  them.  Since  he  will  be  the  first 
to  come,  the  hunters  will  lay  hands  on  Running 
Water  an'  tie  him  an'  burn  him ;  an'  that  will  put 
an  end  to  his  jests  an'  laughter  over  your  ugli 
ness." 

Ugly  Elk  commands  the  Antelope,  his  runner, 
to  hurry  with  word  to  the  hunters  to  burn  him 
to  death  who  shall  come  first  to  them  in  the  morn 
ing.  Then  he  makes  this  word  to  Running  Water 
that  he  must  go  to  the  hunters  when  the  sun 
comes  up  an'  ask  if  they  have  killed  an'  cooked 
the  deer  he  sent  them.  Ugly  Elk  scowls  like  a 
cloud  while  he  gives  his  directions  to  Running 
Water,  but  the  boy  does  not  see  since  his  eyes 
are  on  the  ground. 

As  the  sun  comes  up,  Running  Water  starts  with 
the  word  of  Ugly  Elk  to  the  hunters.  But  Moh- 
Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  is  before  him  for  his  safety. 
Moh-Kwa  knows  that  the  way  to  stop  a  man  is 
with  a  woman,  so  he  has  brought  a  young  squaw 
of  the  lower  Yellowstone  who  is  so  beautiful  that 
her  people  named  her  the  Firelight.  Moh-Kwa 
makes  the  Firelight  pitch  camp  where  the  trail 
of  Running  Water  will  pass  as  he  goes  to  the 
hunters.  An'  the  Wise  Bear  tells  her  what  to 
say;  an'  also  to  have  a  turkey  roasted,  an'  a  pipe 
an'  a  soft  blanket  ready  for  Running  Water. 

34 


HOW  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED. 

When  Running  Water  sees  the  Firelight,  she 
is  so  beautiful  he  thinks  it  is  a  dream.  An'  when 
she  asks  him  to  eat,  an'  fills  the  redstone  pipe  an' 
spreads  a  blanket  for  him,  the  Running  Water 
goes  no  further.  He  smokes  an'  rests  on  the 
blanket;  an'  because  the  tobacco  is  big  medicine, 
Running  Water  falls  asleep  with  his  head  in  the 
lap  of  the  Firelight. 

When  Forked  Tongue  knows  that  Running 
Water  has  started  for  the  hunters,  he  waits.  Then 
he  thinks: 

"  Now  the  hunters,  because  I  have  waited  long, 
have  already  burned  Running  Water.  An'  I  will 
go  an'  see  an'  bring  back  one  of  the  shin-bones 
to  show  Ugly  Elk  that  he  will  never  return." 

Forked  Tongue  travels  fast;  an'  as  he  runs  by 
the  lodge  of  the  Firelight,  while  it  is  a  new  lodge 
to  him,  he  does  not  pause,  for  the  lodge  is  closed 
so  that  the  light  will  not  trouble  Running  Water 
where  he  lies  asleep  with  his  head  in  the  lap  of 
the  Firelight. 

Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  is  behind  a  tree  as 
Forked  Tongue  trots  past,  an'  he  laughs  deep  in 
his  hairy  bosom ;  for  Moh-Kwa  likes  revenge,  an* 
he  remembers  how  he  was  cheated  of  his  bowl 
of  molasses. 

Forked  Tongue  runs  by  Moh-Kwa  like  a  shadow 
an'  never  sees  him,  an'  cannot  hear  him  laugh. 

When  Forked  Tongue  comes  to  the  hunters, 
they  put  their  hands  on  him  an'  tie  him  to  the 

35 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

peeled  pine  tree.  As  they  dance  an'  shout  an' 
pile  the  brush  an'  wood  about  him,  Forked 
Tongue  glares  with  eyes  full  of  fear  an'  asks : 

"  What  is  this  to  mean  ?  "  The  hunters  stop 
dancing  an'  say :  "  It  means  that  it  is  time  to  sing 
the  death  song."  With  that  they  bring  fire  from 
their  camp  an'  make  a  blaze  in  the  twigs  an' 
brush  about  Forked  Tongue;  an'  the  flames  leap 
up  as  if  eager  to  be  at  him — for  fire  hates  a  liar — 
an'  in  a  litle  time  Forked  Tongue  is  burned  away 
an'  only  the  ashes  are  left  an'  the  big  bones,  which 
are  yet  white  hot. 

The  sun  is  sinking  when  Running  Water  wakes 
an'  he  is  much  dismayed;  but  the  Firelight  cheers 
him  with  her  dark  eyes,  an'  Moh-Kwa  comes  from 
behind  the  tree  an'  gives  him  good  words  of  wis 
dom  ;  an'  when  he  has  once  more  eaten  an'  drunk 
an'  smoked,  he  kisses  the  Firelight  an'  goes  for 
ward  to  the  hunters  as  the  Ugly  Elk  said. 

An'  when  he  comes  to  them,  he  asks : 

"  Have  you  killed  an'  cooked  the  deer  which 
was  sent  you  by  the  Ugly  Elk  ?  "  An'  the  hunters 
laugh  an'  say:  "  Yes;  he  is  killed  an'  cooked." 

Then  they  take  him  to  the  peeled  pine  tree,  an' 
tell  him  of  Forked  Tongue  an'  his  fate;  an'  after 
cooling  a  great  shin-bone  in  the  river,  they  wrap 
it  in  bark  an'  grass  an'  say: 

"  Carry  that  to  the  Ugly  Elk  that  he  may  know 
his  deer  is  killed  an'  cooked." 

While  he  is  returning  to  Ugly  Elk  much  dis- 
36 


FORKED  TONGUE. 


HOW  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED. 

turbed,  Moh-Kwa  tells  Running  Water  how 
Forked  Tongue  made  his  evil  plan ;  an  both  Run 
ning  Water  when  he  hears,  an'  Ugly  Elk  when 
he  hears,  can  hardly  breathe  for  wonder.  An' 
the  Ugly  Elk  cannot  speak  for  his  great  happiness 
when  now  that  Running  Water  is  still  alive  an' 
has  not  made  a  joke  of  his  ugliness  nor  laughed. 
Also,  Ugly  Elk  gives  Moh-Kwa  that  bowl  of 
molasses  of  which  Forked  Tongue  would  cheat 
him. 

The  same  day,  Moh-Kwa  brings  the  Firelight 
to  the  lodge  of  Ugly  Elk,  an'  she  an'  Running 
Water  are  wed;  an'  from  that  time  she  dwells  in 
the  tepee  of  Running  Water,  even  unto  the  day 
when  he  is  named  Kill-Bear  an'  made  chief  after 
Ugly  Elk  is  no  more. 


"  It  is  ever,"  said  the  Jolly  Doctor,  beaming 
from  one  to  another  to  observe  if  we  enjoyed 
Sioux  Sam's  story  with  as  deep  a  zest  as  he  did, 
"it  is  ever  a  wondrous  pleasure  to  meet  with  these 
tales  of  a  primitive  people.  They  are  as  simple 
as  the  romaunts  invented  and  told  by  children  for 
the  amusement  of  each  other,  and  yet  they  own 
something  of  a  plot,  though  it  be  the  shallowest." 

"  Commonly,  too,  they  teach  a  moral  lesson," 
spoke  up  the  Sour  Gentleman,  "albeit  from  what 
I  know  of  savage  morals  they  would  not  seem  to 

37 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

have  had  impressive  effect  upon  the  authors  or 
their  Indian  listeners.  You  should  know  some 
thing  of  our  Indians?" 

Here  the  Sour  Gentleman  turned  to  the  Old 
Cattleman,  who  was  rolling  a  fresh  cigar  in  his 
mouth  as  though  the  taste  of  tobacco  were  a 
delight. 

"Me,  savey  Injuns?"  said  the  Old  Cattleman. 
"  Which  I  knows  that  much  about  Injuns  it  gets 
in  my  way." 

"  What  of  their  morals,  then?  "  asked  the  Sour 
Gentleman. 

"  Plumb  base.  That  is,  they're  plumb  base 
when  took  from  a  paleface  standp'int.  Lookin' 
at  'em  with  the  callous  eyes  of  a  savage,  I  reckons 
now  they  would  mighty  likely  seem  bleached  a 
whole  lot." 

Discussion  rambled  to  and  fro  for  a  time,  and 
led  to  a  learned  disquisition  on  fables  from  the 
Jolly  Doctor,  they  being,  he  said,  the  original 
literature  of  the  world.  With  the  end  of  it, 
however,  there  arose  a  request  that  the  Sour 
Gentleman  follow  the  excellent  examples  of  the 
Jolly  Doctor  and  Sioux  Sam. 

"  But  I've  no  invention,"  complained  the  Sour 
Gentleman.  "  At  the  best  I  could  but  give  you 
certain  personal  experiences  of  my  own  ;  and 
those,  let  me  tell  you,  are  not  always  to  my  credit." 

"  Now  I'll  wager,"  spoke  up  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman,  "  now  I'll  wager  a  bottle  of  burgundy 

38 


HOW  FORKED  TONGUE  WAS  BURNED. 

— and  that  reminds  me  I  must  send  for  another, 
since  this  one  by  me  is  empty — that  your  experi 
ences  are  quite  as  glorious  as  my  own;  and  yet, 
sir," — here  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  looked 
hard  at  the  Sour  Gentleman  as  though  defying 
him  to  the  tiltyard — "should  you  favor  us,  I'll 
even  follow  you,  and  forage  in  the  pages  of  my 
own  heretofore  and  give  you  a  story  myself." 

"That  is  a  frank  offer,"  chimed  in  the  Jolly 
Doctor. 

"  There  is  no  fault  to  be  found  with  the  offer," 
said  the  Sour  Gentleman;  "and  yet,  I  naturally 
hesitate  when  those  stories  of  myself,  which  my 
poverty  of  imagination  would  compel  me  to  give 
you,  are  not  likely  to  grace  or  lift  me  in  your 
esteem." 

"  And  what  now  do  you  suppose  should  be  the 
illustrative  virtues  of  what  stories  I  will  offer 
when  I  tell  you  I  am  a  reformed  gambler?  " 

This  query  was  put  by  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man.  The  information  thrown  out  would  seem 
to  hearten  the  Sour  Gentleman  not  a  little. 

"  Then  there  will  be  two  black  sheep  at  all 
events,"  said  the  Sour  Gentleman. 

"  Gents,"  observed  the  Old  Cattleman,  decisive 
ly,  "  if  it'll  add  to  the  gen'ral  encouragement,  I'll 
say  right  yere  that  in  Arizona  I  was  allowed  to 
be  some  heinous  myse'f.  If  this  is  to  be  a  com 
petition  in  iniquity,  I  aims  to  cut  in  on  the  play." 

"  Encouraged,"  responded  the  Sour  Gentleman, 
39 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

with  just  the  specter  of  a  vinegar  smile,  "  by  the 
assurance  that  I  am  like  to  prove  no  more  ebon 
than  my  neighbors,  I  see  nothing  for  it  save  to 
relate  of  the  riches  I  made  and  lost  in  queer  to 
bacco.  I  may  add,  too,  that  this  particular  inci 
dent  carries  no  serious  elements  of  wrong;  it  is 
one  of  my  cleanest  pages,  and  displays  me  as 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THAT    TOBACCO   UPSET. 

When  the  war  was  done  and  the  battle  flags  of 
that  confederacy  which  had  been  my  sweetheart 
were  rolled  tight  to  their  staves  and  laid  away  in 
mournful,  dusty  corners  to  moulder  and  be  for 
got,  I  cut  those  buttons  and  gold  ends  of  braid 
from  my  uniform,  which  told  of  me  as  a  once 
captain  of  rebels,  and  turned  my  face  towards  New 
York.  I  was  twenty-one  at  the  time ;  my  majority 
arrived  on  the  day  when  Lee  piled  his  arms  and 
surrendered  to  Grant  at  Appomatox.  A  captain 
at  twenty-one  ?  That  was  not  strange,  my  friends, 
in  a  time  when  boys  of  twenty-two  were  wearing 
the  wreath  of  a  brigadier.  The  war  was  fought 
by  boys,  not  men; — like  every  other  war.  Ah! 
I  won  my  rank  fairly,  saber  in  fist ;  so  they  all  said. 

Those  were  great  days.  I  was  with  O'Ferrell. 
There  are  one  hundred  miles  in  the  Shenandoah, 
and  backwards  and  forwards  I've  fought  on  its 
every  foot.  Towards  the  last,  each  day  we  fought, 
though  both  armies  could  see  the  end.  We,  for 
our  side,  fought  with  the  wrath  of  despair;  the 
Federals,  with  the  glow  of  triumph  in  plain  sight. 
Each  day  we  fought ;  for  if  we  did  not  go  riding 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

down  the  valley  hunting  Sheridan,  the  sun  was 
never  over-high  when  he  rode  up  the  valley  hunt 
ing  us.  Those  were  brave  days !  We  fought 
twice  after  the  war  was  done.  Yes,  we  knew  of 
Richmond's  fall  and  that  the  end  was  come.  But 
what  then?  There  was  the  eager  foe;  there  were 
we,  sullen  and  ripe  and  hot  with  hate.  Why  should 
we  not  fight  ?  So  it  befell  that  I  heard  those  gay 
last  bugles  that  called  down  the  last  grim  charge ; 
so  it  came  that  I,  with  my  comrades,  made  the 
last  gray  line  of  battle  for  a  cause  already  lost, 
and  fought  round  the  last  standards  of  a  confeder 
acy  already  dead.  Those  were,  indeed,  good  days 
— those  last  scenes  were  filled  with  the  best  and 
bravest  of  either  side. 

No;  I  neither  regret  nor  repent  the  rebellion; 
nor  do  I  grieve  for  rebellion's  failure.  All's  well 
that  well  ends,  and  that  carnage  left  us  the  better 
for  it.  For  myself,  I  came  honestly  by  my  senti 
ments  of  the  South.  I  was  born  in  Virginia,  of 
Virginians.  One  of  my  youthful  recollections  is 
how  John  Brown  struck  his  blow  at  Harper's 
Ferry;  how  Governor  Wise  called  out  that  com 
pany  of  militia  of  which  I  was  a  member ;  and  how, 
as  we  stood  in  the  lamp-lighted  Richmond  streets 
that  night,  waiting  to  take  the  road  for  Harper's 
Ferry,  an  old  grotesque  farmerish  figure  rushed 
excitedly  into  our  midst.  How  we  laughed  at 
the  belligerent  agriculturist!  No,  he  was  no 
farmer;  he  was  Wilkes  Booth  who,  with  the  first 

42 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

whisper  of  the  news,  had  come  hot  foot  from  the 
stage  of  Ford's  Theater  in  his  costume  of  that 
night  to  have  his  part  with  us.  But  all  these  be 
other  stones,  and  I  started  to  tell,  not  of  the  war 
nor  of  days  to  precede  it,  but  about  that  small 
crash  in  tobacco  wherein  I  had  disastrous  part. 

When  I  arrived  in  New  York  my  hopes  were 
high,  as  youth's  hopes  commonly  are.  But,  how 
ever  high  my  hope,  my  pocket  was  light  and  my 
prospects  nothing.  Never  will  I  forget  how  the 
mere  sensation  of  the  great  city  acted  on  me  like 
a  stimulant.  The  crowd  and  the  breezy  rush  of 
things  were  as  wine.  Then  again,  to  transplant 
a  man  means  ever  a  multiplication  of  spirit.  It 
was  so  with  me;  the  world  and  the  hour  and  I 
were  all  new  together,  and  never  have  I  felt  more 
fervor  of  enterprise  than  came  to  me  those  earliest 
New  York  days.  But  still,  I  must  plan  and  do 
some  practical  thing,  for  my  dollars,  like  the 
hairs  of  my  head,  were  numbered. 

It  was  my  seventh  New  York  morning.  As  I 
sat  in  the  cafe'  of  the  Astor  House,  my  eye  was 
caught  by  a  news  paragraph.  The  Internal  Rev 
enue  law,  with  its  tax  of  forty  cents  a  pound  on 
tobacco,  had  gained  a  construction,  and  the  de 
partment's  reading  of  the  law  at  once  claimed 
my  hungriest  interest.  No  tobacco  grown  prior 
to  the  crop  of  '66  was  to  be  affected  by  the  tax; 
that  was  the  decision. 

Aside  from  my  saber-trade  as  a  cavalryman, 
43 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

tobacco  was  that  thing  whereof  I  exhaustively 
knew.  I  was  a  tobacco  adept  from  the  hour  when 
the  seed  went  into  the  ground,  down  to  the  per 
fumed  moment  when  the  perfect  leaf  exhaled  in 
smoke.  Moreover,  I  was  aware  of  a  trade  matter 
in  the  nature  of  a  trade  secret,  which  might  be 
made  of  richest  import. 

During  those  five  red  years  of  war,  throughout 
the  tobacco  regions  of  the  south,  planting  and 
harvesting,  though  crippled,  had  still  gone  for 
ward.  The  fires  of  battle  and  the  moving  lines 
of  troops  had  only  streaked  those  regions  ;  they 
never  wholly  covered  or  consumed  them.  And 
wherever  peace  prevailed,  the  growing  of  tobacco 
went  on.  The  harvests  had  been  stored ;  there 
was  no  market — no  method  of  getting  the  tobacco 
out.  To  be  brief,  as  I  read  the  internal  revenue 
decision  above  quoted,  on  that  Astor  House 
morning,  I  knew  that  scattered  up  and  down  Vir 
ginia  and  throughout  the  rest  of  the  kindom  of 
tobacco,  the  crops  of  full  five  years  were  lying 
housed,  mouldy  and  mildewed,  for  the  most  part, 
and  therefore  cheap  to  whoever  came  with  money 
in  his  hands.  For  an  hour  I  sat  over  my  coffee 
and  made  a  plan. 

There  was  a  gentleman,  an  old  college  friend 
of  my  father.  He  was  rich,  avoided  business  and 
cared  only  for  books.  I  had  made  myself  known 
to  him  on  the  day  of  my  arrival;  he  had  asked 
me,  over  a  glass  of  wine,  to  let  him  hear  from 

44 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

me  as  time  and  my  destinies  took  unto  themselves 
direction.  For  my  tobacco  plan  I  must  have 
money;  and  I  could  think  of  no  one  save  my 
father's  friend  of  the  books. 

When  I  was  shown  into  the  old  gentleman's 
library,  I  found  him  deeply  held  with  Moore's  Life 
of  Byron.  As  he  greeted  me,  he  kept  the  volume 
in  his  left  hand  with  finger  shut  in  the  page.  Evi 
dently  he  trusted  that  I  would  not  remain  long 
and  that  he  might  soon  return  to  his  reading. 

The  situation  chilled  me ;  I  began  my  story  with 
slight  belief  that  its  end  would  be  fortunate.  I 
exposed  my  tobacco  knowledge,  laid  bare  my 
scheme  of  trade,  and  craved  the  loan  of  five  thous 
and  dollars  on  the  personal  security — not  at  all 
commercial — of  an  optimist  of  twenty-one,  whose 
only  employment  had  been  certain  boot-and- 
saddle  efforts  to  overthrow  the  nation.  I  say,  I 
had  scant  hope  of  obtaining  the  aid  I  quested. 
I  suffered  disappointment.  I  was  dealing  with  a 
gentleman  who,  however  much  he  might  grudge 
me  a  few  moments  taken  from  Byron,  was  willing 
enough  to  help  me  with  money.  In  truth,  he 
seemed  relieved  when  he  had  heard  me  through; 
and  he  at  once  signed  a  check  with  a  fine  flourish, 
and  I  came  from  his  benevolent  presence  equipped 
for  those  tobacco  experiments  I  contemplated. 

It  is  not  required  that  I  go  with  filmy  detail 
into  a  re-count  of  my  enterprise.  I  began  safely 
and  quietly;  with  my  profits  I  extended  myself; 

45 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

and  at  the  end  of  eighteen  months,  I  had  so 
pushed  affairs  that  I  was  on  the  highway  to  wealth 
and  the  firm  station  of  a  millionaire. 

I  had  personally  and  through  my  agents  bought 
up  those  five  entire  war-crops  of  tobacco.  Most  of 
it  was  still  in  Virginia  and  the  south,  due  to  my 
order;  much  of  it  had  been  already  brought  to 
New  York.  By  the  simple  process  of  steaming 
and  vaporizing,  I  removed  each  trace  of  mould 
and  mildew,  and  under  my  skillful  methods  that 
war  tobacco  emerged  upon  the  market  almost  as 
sweet  and  hale  as  the  best  of  our  domestic  stock ; 
and  what  was  vastly  in  its  favor,  its  flavor  was, 
if  anything,  a  trifle  mild. 

In  that  day  of  leaf  tobacco,  the  commodity  was 
marketed  in  one-hundred-pound  bales.  My  bales 
were  made  with  ninety-two  pounds  of  war  tobacco, 
sweated  free  of  any  touch  of  mildew;  and  eight 
pounds  of  new  tobacco,  the  latter  on  the  outside 
for  the  sake  of  color  and  looks.  Thus  you  may 
glimpse  somewhat  the  advantage  I  had.  Where, 
at  forty  cents  a  pound,  the  others  paid  on  each 
bale  of  tobacco  a  revenue  charge  of  forty  dollars, 
I,  with  only  eight  pounds  of  new  tobacco,  paid 
but  three  dollars  and  twenty  cents.  And  I  had 
cornered  the  exempted  tobacco.  Is  it  wonder  I 
began  to  wax  rich  ? 

Often  I  look  over  my  account  books  of  those 
brilliant  eighteen  months.  When  I  read  that  news 
item  on  the  Astor  House  morning  I've  indicated, 

46 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

I  had  carefully  modeled  existence  to  a  support 
ing  basis  of  ten  dollars  a  week.  When  eighteen 
months  later  there  came  the  crash,  I  was  permit 
ting  unto  my  dainty  self  a  rate  of  personal  expen 
diture  of  over  thirty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  I 
had  apartments  tip-town;  I  was  a  member  of  the 
best  clubs ;  I  was  each  afternoon  in  the  park  with 
my  carriage ;  incidentally  I  was  languidly  looking 
about  among  the  Vere  de  Veres  of  the  old 
Knickerbockers  for  that  lady  who,  because  of  her 
superlative  beauty  and  wit  and  modesty  coupled 
with  youth  and  station,  was  worthy  to  be  my  wife. 
Also,  I  recall  at  this  period  how  I  was  conceitedly 
content  with  myself;  how  I  gave  way  to  warmest 
self-regard;  pitied  others  as  dullards  and  thrift 
less  blunderers ;  and  privily  commended  myself  as 
a  very  Caesar  of  Commerce  and  the  one  among 
millions.  Alas  !  "  Pride  goeth  "•  —you  have  read 
the  rest! 

It  was  a  bright  October  afternoon.  My  comet- 
like  career  had  subsisted  for  something  like  a 
year  and  a  half ;  and  I,  the  comet,  was  growing  in 
size  and  brilliancy  as  time  fled  by.  My  tobacco 
works  proper  were  over  towards  the  East  River 
in  a  brick  warehouse  I  had  leased ;  to  these,  which 
were  under  the  superintendence  of  a  trusty  and 
expert  adherent  whom  I  had  brought  north  from 
Richmond,  I  seldom  repaired.  My  offices — five 
rooms,  fitted  and  furnished  to  the  last  limit  of 


47 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

rosewood  and  Russia  leather  magnificence — were 
down-town. 

On  this  particular  autumn  afternoon,  as  I  went 
forth  to  my  brougham  for  a  roll  to  my  apartments, 
the  accountant  placed  in  my  hands  a  statement 
which  I'd  asked  for  and  which  with  particular 
exactitude  set  forth  my  business  standing.  I  re 
member  it  exceeding  well.  As  I  trundled  up-town 
that  golden  afternoon,  I  glanced  at  those  ad 
ditions  and  subtractions  which  told  my  opulent 
story.  Briefly,  my  liabilities  were  ninety  thousand 
dollars ;  and  I  was  rich  in  assets  to  a  money  value 
of  three  hundred  and  twelve  thousand  dollars. 
The  ninety  thousand  was  or  would  be  owing  on 
my  tobacco  contracts  south,  and  held  those  tons 
on  tons  of  stored,  mildewed  war  tobacco,  solid 
to  my  command.  As  I  read  the  totals  and  re 
viewed  the  items,  I  would  not  have  paid  a  penny 
of  premium  to  insure  my  future.  There  it  was  in 
black  and  white.  I  knew  what  I  had  done;  I 
knew  what  I  could  do.  I  was  master  of  the  to 
bacco  situation  for  the  next  three  years  to  come. 
By  that  time,  I  would  have  worked  up  the  entire 
fragrant  stock  of  leaf  exempt  from  the  tax;  also 
by  that  time,  I  would  count  my  personal  fortune 
at  a  shadow  over  three  millions.  There  was 
nothing  surer  beneath  the  sun.  At  twenty-six  I 
would  retire  from  trade  and  its  troubles;  life 
would  lie  at  my  toe  like  a  kick-ball,  and  I  would 
own  both  the  wealth  and  the  supple  youth  to 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

pursue  it  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  pleasur 
able  experience.  Thus  ran  my  smug  reflections 
as  I  rolled  northward  along  Fifth  avenue  to  dress 
for  dinner  on  that  bright  October  day. 

It  was  the  next  afternoon,  and  I  had  concluded 
a  pleasant  lunch  in  my  private  office  when  Mike, 
my  personal  and  favorite  henchman,  announced  a 
visitor.  The  caller  desired  to  see  me  on  a  sub 
ject  both  important  and  urgent. 

"  Show  him  in !  "  I  said. 

There  slouched  into  the  room  an  awkward- 
seeming  man  of  middle  age ;  not  poor,  but  roughly 
dressed.  No  one  would  have  called  him  a  fop ; 
his  clothes,  far  astern  of  the  style,  fitted  vilely; 
while  his  head,  never  beautiful,  was  made  uglier 
with  a  shock  of  rudely  exuberant  hair  and  a  stubby 
beard  like  pig's  bristles.  It  was  an  hour  when 
there  still  remained  among  us,  savages  who  oiled 
their  hair;  this  creature  was  one;  and  I  remember 
how  the  collar  of  his  rusty  surtout  shone  like 
glass  with  the  dripped  grease. 

My  ill-favored  visitor  accepted  the  chair  Mike 
placed  for  him  and  perched  uneasily  on  its  edge. 
When  we  were  alone,  I  brought  him  and  his  busi 
ness  to  instant  bay.  I  was  anxious  to  free  myself 
of  his  presence.  His  bear's  grease  and  jaded 
appearance  bred  a  distaste  of  him. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  My  tones  were  brittle 
and  sharp. 

The  uncouth  caller  leered  at  me  with  a  fashion 
4  49 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

of  rancid  leer — I  suppose  even  a  leer  may  have 
a  flavor.  Then  he  opened  with  obscure  craft — 
vaguely,  foggily.  He  wanted  to  purchase  half  my 
business.  He  would  take  an  account  of  stock; 
give  me  exact  money  for  one-half  its  value;  be 
sides,  he  would  pay  me  a  bonus  of  fifty  thousand 
dollars. 

If  this  unkempt  barbarian  had  come  squarely 
forth  and  told  me  his  whole  story;  if,  in  short,  I 
had  known  who  he  was  and  whom  he  came  from, 
there  would  have  grown  no  trouble.  I  would 
have  gulped  and  swallowed  the  pill;  we  would 
have  dealt ;  I'd  have  had  a  partner  and  been  worth 
one  and  one-half  million  instead  of  three  millions 
when  my  fortune  was  made.  But  he  didn't.  He 
shuffled  and  hinted  and  leered,  and  said  over  and 
over  again  as  he  repeated  his  offer: 

"  You  need  a  partner." 

But  beyond  this  he  did  not  go;  and  of  this  I 
could  make  nothing,  and  I  felt  nothing  save  a 
cumulative  resentment  that  kept  growing  the 
larger  the  longer  he  stayed.  I  told  him  I  desired 
none  of  his  partnership.  I  told  him  this  several 
divers  times ;  and  each  time  with  added  vigor  and 
a  rising  voice.  To  the  last  he  persistently  and 
leeringly  retorted  his  offer;  always  concluding, 
like  another  Cato,  with  his  eternal  Delenda  est 
Carthago. 

"  You  need  a  partner !  " 

Even  my  flatterers  have  never  painted  me  as 

50 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

patient,  and  at  twenty-three  my  pulse  beat  swift 
and  hot.  And  it  came  to  pass  that  on  the  heels 
of  an  acrid  ten  minutes  of  my  visitor,  I  brought 
him  bluntly  up. 

"  Go !  "  I  said.  "  I've  heard  all  I  care  to  hear. 
Go;  or  I'll  have  you  shown  the  door!  " 

It  was  of  no  avail;  the  besotted  creature  held 
his  ground. 

I  touched  a  bell;  the  faithful  Mike  appeared. 
It  took  no  more  than  a  wave  of  the  hand;  Mike 
had  studied  me  and  knew  my  moods.  At  once 
he  fell  upon  the  invader  and  threw  him  down 
stairs  with  all  imaginable  spirit. 

Thereupon  I  breathed  with  vast  relief,  had  the 
windows  lifted  because  of  bear's  grease  that  taint 
ed  the  air,  and  conferred  on  the  valorous  Celt  a 
reward  of  two  dollars. 

Who  was  this  ill -combed,  unctuous,  oily, 
cloudy,  would-be  partner?  He  was  but  a  mes 
senger  ;  two  months  before  he  had  resigned  a  desk 
in  the  Washington  Treasury — for  appearances 
only — to  come  to  me  and  make  the  proffer.  After 
Mike  cast  him  forth,  he  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
knees  and  returned  to  Washington  and  had  his 
treasury  desk  again.  He  was  a  mere  go-between. 
The  one  he  stood  for  and  whose  plans  he  sought 
to  transact  was  a  high  official  of  revenue.  This 
latter  personage,  of  whose  plotting  identity  back 
in  the  shadows  I  became  aware  only  when  it  was 
too  late,  noting  my  tobacco  operations  and  their 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

profits  and  hawk-hungry  for  a  share,  had  sent  me 
the  offer  of  partnership.  I  regret,  for  my  sake 
as  well  as  his  own,  that  he  did  not  pitch  upon  a 
more  sagacious  commissioner. 

Now  fell  the  bolt  of  destruction.  The  morning 
following  Mike's  turgid  exploits  with  my  visitor, 
I  was  met  in  the  office  door  by  the  manager.  His 
face  was  white  and  his  eyes  seemed  goggled  and 
fixed  as  if  their  possessor  had  been  planet-struck. 
I  stared  at  him. 

"  Have  you  read  the  news?  "  he  gasped. 

"What  news?" 

"  Have  you  not  read  of  the  last  order?  " 

Over  night — for  my  visitor,  doubtless,  wired 
his  discomfiture — the  Revenue  Department  had 
reversed  its  decision  of  two  years  before. 
The  forty  cents  per  pound  of  internal  revenue 
would  from  that  moment  be  demanded  and  en 
forced  against  every  leaf  of  tobacco  then  or  there 
after  to  become  extant;  and  that,  too,  whether  its 
planting  and  its  reaping  occurred  inter  arma  or 
took  place  beneath  the  pinions  of  wide-spreading 
peace.  The  revenue  office  declared  that  its  first 
ruling,  exempting  tobacco  grown  during  the  war, 
had  been  taken  criminal  advantage  of ;  and  that 
thereby  the  nation  in  its  revenue  rights  had  been 
sorely  defeated  and  pillaged  by  certain  able  rogues 
— meaning  me.  Therefore,  this  new  rule  of  rev 
enue  right  and  justice. 

Now  the  story  ends.  Under  these  changed, 
52 


THAT  TOBACCO  UPSET. 

severe  conditions,  when  I  was  made  to  meet  a  tax 
of  forty  dollars  where  I'd  paid  less  than  a  tithe  of 
it  before,  I  was  helpless.  I  couldn't,  with  my 
inferior  tobacco,  engage  on  even  terms  against 
the  new  tobacco  and  succeed.  My  strength  had 
dwelt  in  my  power  to  undersell.  This  power  was 
departed  away;  my  locks  as  a  Sampson  were 
shorn. 

But  why  spin  out  the  hideous  story?  My  mar 
ket  was  choked  up ;  a  cataract  of  creditors  came 
upon  me;  my  liabilities  seemed  to  swell  while  my 
assets  grew  sear  and  shrunken.  Under  the  shak 
ing  jolt  of  that  last  new  revenue  decision,  my 
fortunes  came  tumbling  like  a  castle  of  cards. 

After  three  months,  I  dragged  myself  from  be 
neath  the  ruin  of  my  affairs  and  stood — rather 
totteringly — on  my  feet  again.  I  was  out  of  busi 
ness.  I  counted  up  my  treasure  and  found  my 
self,  debtless  and  unthreatened,  master  of  some 
twenty  thousand  dollars. 

And  what  then?  Twenty  thousand  dollars  is 
not  so  bad.  It  is  not  three  millions;  nor  even 
half  of  three  millions ;  but  when  all  is  said,  twenty 
thousand  is  not  so  bad !  I  gave  up  my  rich  apart 
ments,  sold  my  horses,  looked  no  more  for  a 
female  Vere  de  Vere  with  intent  her  to  espouse, 
and  turned  to  smuggling.  I  had  now  a  personal 
as  well  as  a  regional  grudge  against  government. 
The  revenue  had  cheated  me;  I  would  in  revenge 


53 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

cheat  the  revenue.     I  became  a  smuggler.     That, 
however,  is  a  tale  to  tell  another  day. 


"  And  now,"  observed  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man,  dipping  deeply  into  his  burgundy,  as  if  for 
courage,  "  I'll  even  keep  my  promise.  I'll  tell  a 
story  of  superstition  and  omen ;  also  how  I  turned 
in  my  infancy  to  cards  as  a  road  to  wealth.  Cards 
as  a  method  to  arrive  by  riches  is  neither  splendid 
nor  respectable,  but  I  shall  make  no  apologies. 
I  give  you  the  story  of  The  Sign  of  The  Three." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SIGN   OF  THREE. 

Such  confession  may  come  grotesquely  enough 
from  one  of  education  and  substance,  yet  all  the 
day  long  I've  been  thinking  on  omens  and  on 
prophecies.  It  was  my  servant  who  brought  it 
about.  He,  poor  wretch!  appeared  in  my  cham 
ber  this  morning  with  brows  of  terror  and  eyes 
of  gloom.  He  had  consulted  a  gypsy  sorceress, 
whom  the  storm  drove  to  cover  in  this  tavern,  and 
crossed  the  palm  of  her  greed  with  a  silver  dollar 
to  be  told  that  he  would  die  within  the  year.  In 
formation  hardly  worth  the  fee,  truly!  And  the 
worst  is,  the  shrinking  fool  believes  the  forebode 
and  is  already  set  about  mending  his  lean  estates 
for  the  change.  What  is  still  more  strange,  I, 
too,  regard  the  word  of  this  snow-blown  witch — 
whoever  the  hag  may  be — and  can  no  more  eject 
her  prophecies  from  my  head  than  can  the  scared 
victim  of  them. 

This  business  of  superstition — a  weakness  for 
the  supernatural — belongs  with  our  bone  and 
blood.  Reason  is  no  shield  from  its  assaults. 
Look  at  Sir  Thomas  More ;  chopped  on  Tower  Hill 
because  he  would  believe  that  the  blessed  wafers 

55 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

became  of  the  Savior's  actual  flesh  and  blood! 
And  yet,  Sir  Thomas  wrote  that  most  thoughtful 
of  works,  "  Utopia/'  and  was  cunning  enough  of 
a  hard-headed  politics  to  succeed  Wolsey  as 
Chancellor. 

Doubtless  my  bent  to  be  superstitious  came  to 
me  from  my  father.  He  was  a  miner;  worked 
and  lived  on  Tom's  Run;  and  being  from  Wales, 
and  spending  his  days  in  gloomy  caverns  of  coal, 
held  to  those  fantastic  beliefs  of  his  craft  in  elves 
and  gnomes  and  brownies  and  other  malignant, 
small  folk  of  Demonland.  However,  it  becomes 
not  me  to  find  fault  with  my  ancestor  nor  speak 
lightly  of  his  foibles.  He  was  a  most  excellent 
parent ;  and  it  is  one  of  my  comforts,  and  one 
which  neither  my  money  nor  my  ease  could  bring, 
that  I  was  ever  a  good  son. 

As  I  say,  my  father  was  a  miner  of  coal.  Each 
morning  while  the  mines  were  open,  lamp  in  hat, 
he  repaired  deep  within  the  tunneled  belly  of  the 
hill  across  from  our  cottage  and  with  pick  and 
blast  delved  the  day  long.  This  mine  was  what 
is  called  a  "rail  mine,"  and  closed  down  its  work 
each  autumn  to  resume  again  in  the  spring.  These 
beginnings  and  endings  of  mine  activities  depend 
ed  on  the  opening  and  closing  of  navigation  along 
the  Great  Lakes.  When  the  lakes  were  open, 
the  mines  were  open  ;  when  November's  ice  locked 
up  the  lakes,  it  locked  up  the  mines  as  well,  and 
my  father  and  his  fellows  of  the  lamp  were  per- 

56 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

force  idle  until  the  warmth  of  returning  spring 
again  freed  the  keels  and  south  breezes  refilled 
the  sails  of  commerce.  As  this  gave  my  father 
but  five  to  six  months  work  a  year;  and  as — at 
sixty  cents  a  ton  and  pay  for  powder,  oil,  fuse 
and  blacksmithing — he  could  make  no  more  than 
forty  dollars  a  month,  we  were  poor  enough. 

Even  the  scant  money  he  earned  we  seldom 
really  fingered.  The  little  that  was  not  cheated 
out  of  my  father's  hands  by  the  sins  of  diamond 
screens  and  untrue  weights  and  other  company 
tricks,  was  pounced  on  in  advance  by  the  harpies 
of  "company  store"  and  "company  cottage,"  and 
what  coins  came  to  our  touch  never  soared  above 
the  mean  dignity  of  copper.  Poor  we  were !  a 
family  of  groats  and  farthings!  poor  as  Lamb's 
"  obolary  Jew !  " 

It  is  not  worth  while  for  what  I  have  in  mind  to 
dwell  in  sad  extent  on  the  struggles  of  my  father 
or  the  aching  shifts  we  made  in  my  childhood  to 
feed  and  clothe  the  life  within  our  bodies.  And 
yet,  in  body  at  least,  I  thrived  thereby.  I  grew 
up  strong  and  muscular;  I  boxed,  wrestled  and 
ran ;  was  proficient  as  an  athlete,  and  among  other 
feats  and  for  a  slight  wager — which  was  not  made 
with  my  money,  I  warrant  you ! — swam  eighteen 
miles  in  fresh  water  one  Sunday  afternoon. 

While  my  muscles  did  well  enough,  our  poverty 
would  have  starved  my  mind  were  it  not  for  the 
parish  priest.  The  question  of  books  and  schools 

57 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

for  me  was  far  beyond  my  father's  solution;  he 
was  eager  that  I  be  educated,  but  the  emptiness 
of  the  family  fisc  forbade.  It  was  then  the  good 
parish  priest  stepped  forward  and  took  me  in 
earnest  hand.  Father  Glennon  deemed  himself  no 
little  of  an  athlete,  and  I  now  believe  that  it  was 
my  supremacy  in  muscle  among  the  boys  of  my 
age  that  first  drew  his  eyes  to  me.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  he  took  my  schooling  on  himself;  and  night 
and  day  while  I  abode  on  Tom's  Run — say  until 
my  seventeenth  year — I  was  as  tightly  bound  to 
the  priest's  books  as  ever  Prometheus  to  his  rock. 
And  being  a  ready  lad,  I  did  my  preceptor  proud. 

The  good  priest  is  dead  now;  I  sought  to  put 
a  tall  stone  above  him  but  the  bishop  refused 
because  it  was  too  rich  a  mark  for  the  dust  of  an 
humble  priest.  I  had  my  way  in  part,  however; 
I  bought  the  plot  just  across  the  narrow  gravel 
walk  from  the  grave  that  held  my  earliest,  best 
friend,  and  there,  registering  on  its  smooth  white 
surface  my  debt  to  Father  Glennon,  stands  the 
shaft.  I  carved  on  it  no  explanation  of  the  fact 
that  it  is  only  near  and  not  over  my  good  priest's 
bones.  Those  who  turn  curious  touching  that 
matter  may  wend  to  the  bishop  or  to  the  sexton, 
and  I  now  and  then  hear  that  they  do. 

No ;  I  did  not  go  into  the  coal  holes.  My  father 
forbade  it,  and  I  lacked  the  inclination  as  well. 
By  nature  I  was  a  speculator,  a  gambler  if  you 
will.  I  like  uncertainties ;  I  would  not  lend  money 

58 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

at  five  hundred  per  cent.,  merely  because  one 
knows  in  advance  the  measure  of  one's  risks  and 
profits.  I  want  a  chance  to  win  and  a  chance  to 
lose ;  for  I  hold  with  the  eminent  gamester  Charles 
Fox  that  while  to  win  offers  the  finest  sensation 
of  which  the  human  soul  is  capable,  the  next  finest 
comes  when  you  lose.  Congenitally  I  was  a 
courtier  of  Fortune  and  a  follower  of  the  gospel 
of  chance.  And  this  inborn  mood  has  carried  me 
through  a  score  of  professions  until,  as  I  tell  you 
this,  I  have  grown  rich  and  richer  as  a  stock  spec 
ulator,  and  hang  over  the  markets  a  pure  gambler 
of  the  tape.  I  make  no  apology;  I  simply  point 
to  the  folk  who  surround  me. 

My  vocation  of  a  gambler — for  what  else  shall 
one  call  a  speculator  of  stocks? — has  doubtless 
fattened  my  tendencies  towards  the  superstitious. 
I've  witnessed  much  surely,  that  should  go  to 
their  strengthening.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story 
somewhat  in  line  with  the  present  current  of  my 
thoughts ;  it  may  reach  some  distance  to  teach 
you  with  Horatio  that  there  be  more  things  in 
heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in  our 
philosophy.  After  all,  it  is  the  cold  record  of  one 
of  a  hundred  score  of  incidents  that  encourage 
my  natural  belief  in  the  occult. 

There  is  a  gentleman  of  stocks — I've  known 
him  twenty  years — and  he  has  a  weakness  for  the 
numeral  three.  Just  how  far  his  worship  of  that 

59 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

sacred  number  enters  into  his  business  life  no  one 
may  certainly  tell;  he  is  secretive  and  cautious 
and  furnishes  no  evidence  on  the  point  that  may 
be  covered  up.  Yet  this  weakness,  if  one  will 
call  it  so,  crops  up  in  sundry  fashions.  His  offices 
are  suite  three,  in  number  thirty-three  Blank 
street;  his  telephones  are  333  and  3339  respective 
ly;  his  great  undertakings  are  invariably  deferred 
in  their  commencements  until  the  third  of  the 
month. 

His  peculiar  and  particular  fetich,  however,  is 
a  chain  of  three  hundred  and  thirty-three  gold 
beads.  It  is  among  the  wonders  of  the  street. 
This  was  made  for  him  and  under  his  direction  by 
Tiffany,  and  cost  one  workman  something  over  a 
year  of  his  life  in  its  construction.  It  is  all  hand 
and  hammer  work,  this  chain;  and  on  each  bead 
is  drawn  with  delicate  and  finished  art  a  gypsy 
girl's  head.  Under  a  microscope  this  gypsy  face 
is  perfect  and  the  entire  jewel  worthy  the  boast 
of  the  Tiffany  house  as  a  finest  piece  of  gold 
beater's  work  turned  out  in  modern  times. 

It  is  a  listless,  warm  evening  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  Our  believer  in  "Three"  is  gathered 
casually  with  two  of  his  friends.  There  is  no  busi 
ness  abroad;  those  missions  which  called  our 
gentleman  of  the  gypsy  chain  up-town  are  all  dis 
charged  ;  he  is  off  duty — unbuckled,  as  it  were,  in 
cheerful,  light  converse  over  a  bottle  of  wine.  Let 
us  name  our  friend  of  the  Three,  "  James  of  the 

60 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

Beads;"  while  his  duo  of  comrades  may  be  Reed 
and  Rand  respectively. 

Such  is  man's  inconsistency  that  James  of  the 
Beads  is  railing  at  Reed  who  has  told — with  airs 
of  veneration  if  not  of  faith — of  a  "system,"  that 
day  laid  bare  to  him,  warranted  to  discover  in 
excellent  rich  advance,  the  names  of  the  winning 
horses  in  next  day's  races.  James  of  the  Beads 
laughs,  while  Reed  feebly  defends  his  credulity  in 
lending  the  countenance  of  half  belief  to  the  "sys 
tem"  he  describes. 

Then  a  sudden  impulse  takes  James  of  the 
Beads.  His  face  grows  grave  while  his  eye  shows 
deepest  thought. 

"To-morrow  is  the  third  of  the  month?"  ob 
serves  James  of  the  Beads.  Now  with  emphasis : 
"  Gentlemen,  I'll  show  you  how  to  select  a  horse." 
Then  to  Reed,  who  holds  in  his  hands  the  racing 
list :  "  Look  for  to-morrow's  third  race !  "  Reed 
finds  it. 

"What  is  the  third  horse?" 

"  Roysterer." 

"Roysterer!"  repeats  James  of  the  Beads. 
"  Good !  There  are  nine  letters  in  the  name ;  three 
syllables ;  three  r's !  " 

Then  James  of  the  Beads  seizes  with  both  hands, 
in  a  sort  of  ecstatic  catch  as  catch  can,  on  the 
gypsy  chain  of  magic.  He  holds  a  bead  between 
the  thumb  and  fore-finger  of  each  hand.  Softly  he 
counts  the  little  yellow  globes  between. 

61 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  Thirty-three !  "  ejaculates  James  of  the  Beads. 
Deeper  lights  begin  to  shine  in  his  eye.  One  test 
of  the  chain,  however,  is  not  enough.  He  must 
make  three.  A  second  time  he  takes  a  bead  be 
tween  each  fore-finger  and  thumb;  on  this  trial 
the  two  beads  are  farther  apart.  Again  he  counts, 
feeling  each  golden  bullet  with  his  finger's  tip  as 
the  tally  proceeds. 

"Sixty-six!" 

There  arrives  a  glow  on  the  brow  of  James  of 
the  Beads  to  keep  company  with  the  gathering 
sparkle  of  his  eye.  The  questioning  of  the  witch- 
chain  goes  on.  Again  he  seizes  the  beads;  again 
he  tells  the  number. 

"  Ninety-nine !  " 

The  prophecy  is  made ;  the  story  of  success  is 
foretold.  James  of  the  Beads  is  on  fire ;  he  springs 
to  his  feet.  Rand  and  Reed  regard  him  in  silence, 
curiously.  He  walks  to  a  window  and  sharply 
gazes  out  on  the  lamp-sprinkled  evening. 

"  Twenty-third  street !  Fifth  avenue !  Broad 
way  !  "  he  mutters.  "  Still  three — always  three !  " 

Unconsciously  James  of  the  Beads  seeks  the 
window-shade  with  his  hand.  He  would  raise  it 
a  trifle;  it  is  low  and  interrupts  the  eye  as  he 
stands  gazing  into  the  trio  of  thoroughfares.  The 
tassel  he  grasps  is  old  and  comes  off  in  his  fingers. 
James  of  the  Beads  turns  his  glance  on  the  tassel. 

1  That,  too,  has  its  meaning,"  says  James  of 
the  Beads,  "  if  only  we  might  read  it," 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

The  tassel  is  a  common,  poor  creature  of  worst 
ed  yarns  and  strands  wrapped  about  a  clumsy 
mold  of  wood.  James  of  the  Beads  scans  it  nar 
rowly  as  it  lies  in  his  hand.  At  last  he  turns  it, 
and  the  fringe  falls  away  from  the  wooden  mold. 
There  is  a  little  "  3 "  burned  upon  the  wood. 
James  of  the  Beads  exhibits  this  sacred  sign  to 
Reed  and  Rand;  the  while  his  excited  interest 
deepens.  Then  he  counts  the  strands  of  worsted 
which  constitute  the  fringe.  There  are  eighty- 
one! 

"  Three  times  three  times  three  times  three !  " 
and  James  of  the  Beads  draws  a  deep  breath. 

Who  might  resist  these  spectral  manifestations 
of  "  Three !  "  James  of  the  Beads  turns  from  the 
window  like  one  whose  decision  is  made.  With 
out  a  word  he  takes  a  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket 
book  and  going  to  the  table  writes  his  name  on 
its  back.  It  is  a  pleasant-seeming  paper,  this  slip  ; 
and  pleasantly  engraved  and  written  upon.  No 
less  is  it  than  a  New  York  draft  drawn  on  the 
City  National  Bank  by  a  leading  Chicago  concern 
for  an  even  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  James 
of  the  Beads  places  it  in  the  hands  of  Rand. 

'  To-morrow  should  be  the  luckiest  of  days," 
says  James  of  the  Beads.  "  I  must  not  lose  it. 
I  must  consider  to-morrow  and  arrange  to  set 
afoot  certain  projects  which  I've  had  in  train  for 
some  time.  As  to  the  races,  Rand,  take  the  draft 
and  put  it  all  on  Roysterer." 

63 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  Man  alive !  "  remonstrates  the  amazed  Rand ; 
"  it's  too  much  on  one  horse !  Moreover,  I  won't 
have  time  to  get  all  that  money  down." 

"  Get  down  what  you  can  then,"  commands 
James  of  the  Beads.  "  Plunge  !  Have  no  fears ! 
1  tell  you,  so  surely  as  the  sun  comes  up,  Roysterer 
will  win." 

"  The  wise  ones  don't  think  so,"  urges  Rand, 
who  is  not  wedded  to  the  mystic  "  Three,"  and 
beholds  nothing  wondrous  in  that  numeral.  "  This 
Roysterer  is  a  seven  for  one  shot." 

"  And  the  better  for  us,"  retorts  James  of  the 
Beads.  "  Roysterer  is  to  win." 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  wiser  to  split  this  money 
and  play  part  of  it  on  Roysterer  for  a  place?  " 

"  Never!  "  declares  James  of  the  Beads.  "  Do 
you  suppose  I  don't  know  what  I'm  about?  I'm 
worth  a  million  for  each  year  of  my  life,  and  I 
made  every  stiver  of  it  by  the  very  method  I  take 
to  discover  this  horse.  Can't  you  see  that  I'm 
not  guessing? — that  I  have  reason  for  what  I  do? 
Roysterer  for  a  place!  Never!  get  down  every 
splinter  that  Roysterer  finishes  first." 

"  Let  me  ask  one  question,"  observes  the  cau 
tious  Rand.  "  Do  you  know  the  horse?  " 

"  Never  heard  of  the  animal  in  my  life !  "  re 
marks  James  of  the  Beads,  pouring  himself  a  com 
placent  glass.  This  he  tastes  approvingly.  "  You 
must  pardon  me,  my  friends,  I've  got  to  write  a 
note  or  two.  I've  not  too  much  time  for  a  man 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

with  twenty  things  to  do,  and  who  must  be  in 
the  street  when  business  opens  to-morrow.  Take 
my  word  for  it ;  get  all  you  can  on  Roysterer.  If 
we  win,  we're  partners ;  if  we  lose,  I'm  alone." 

Rand  shakes  sage,  experienced  head,  while  his 
face  gathers  a  cynical  look. 

Reed  and  Rand  take  James  of  the  Beads  by 
the  hand  and  then  withdraw. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it?  "  asks  Rand. 

"  The  man's  infatuated !  "  replies  Reed. 

"  And  yet,  you  also  believe  in  systems,"  remarks 
Rand. 

It  is  the  next  afternoon.  The  Brighton  course 
is  rampant  with  the  usual  jostling,  pushing,  striv 
ing,  guessing,  knowing,  wagering,  winning,  losing, 
ignorant,  exulting,  deploring,  profane  crowd.  The 
conservative  Rand  has  so  far  obeyed  the  behest 
of  James  of  the  Beads  that  he  has  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  on  Roysterer  straight. 

"  To  lose  fifteen  thousand  won't  hurt  him,"  says 
Rand,  and  so  consoles  himself  for  a  mad  specula 
tion  whereof  he  has  no  joy. 

Reed  and  Rand,  as  taking  life  easily,  are  in  a 
box;  the  race  over  which  their  interest  clings  and 
clambers  is  called. 

The  horses  are  at  the  post.  Roysterer  does 
not  act  encouragingly;  he  is  too  sleepy — too 
lethargic !  Starlight,  the  favorite,  steps  about, 
alert  and  springy  as  a  cat ;  it  should  be  an  easy 
race  for  her  if  looks  go  for  aught. 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

They  get  the  word;  they  are  "off !  "  The  field 
sweeps  'round  the  curve.  A  tall  man  in  a  nearby 
box  follows  the  race  with  a  glass. 

"  At  the  quarter,"  sings  the  tall  man.  "  Star 
light  first,  Blenheim  second,  Roysterer  third !  " 
There  is  a  pause.  Then  the  tall  man :  "  At  the 
half !  Starlight  first,  Blenheim  second,  Roysterer 
third!  "  Rand  turns  to  Reed.  "  He  must  better 
that,"  says  Rand,  "or  he'll  explode  the  supersti 
tion  of  our  friend."  There  is  a  wait  of  twenty- 
five  seconds.  Again  the  tall,  binoculared  man: 
"  Three-quarter  post !  Starlight  first,  Blenheim 
second,  Roysterer  third — and  whipping !  " 

"  It's  as  good  as  over,"  observes  Rand.  "  I 
wonder  what  James  of  the  Beads  will  say  to  his 
witch-chain  when  he  hears  the  finish." 

"  It's  surprising,"  remarks  Reed  peevishly,  "that 
a  man  of  his  force  and  clear  intelligence  should 
own  to  such  a  weakness !  All  his  life  he's  fol 
lowed  this  marvelous  '  Three'  about ;  and  having 
had  vast  success  he  attributes  it  to  the  '  Three/ 
when  he  might  as  well  and  as  wisely  ascribe  it  to 
Captain  Kidd  or  Trinity  church.  To-day's  results 
may  cure  him;  and  that's  one  comfort." 

There  is  a  sharp  click  as  the  tall  man  in  the 
nearby  box  shuts  up  his  glasses. 

"  Roysterer  wins !  "  says  the  tall  man. 

"  Got  down  fifteen  thousand.  Won  one  hun 
dred  and  five  thousand,"  reads  James  of  the  Beads 
from  Rand's  telegram  sent  from  the  track.  James 

66 


THE  SIGN  OF  THREE. 

of  the  Beads  is  in  his  offices ;  he  has  just  finished 
a  victorious  day,  at  once  heavy  and  tumultuous 
with  the  buying  and  the  selling  of  full  three  hun 
dred  thousand  shares  of  stocks.  "  They  should 
have  wagered  the  full  one  hundred  thousand  and 
let  the  odds  look  after  themselves,"  he  says.  Then 
James  of  the  Beads  begins  to  caress  the  gypsy 
chain.  "You  knew,"  he  murmurs;  "of  course, 
you  knew!  "  There  is  a  note  of  devotion  in  the 
tones.  The  bead-worship  goes  on  for  a  silent 
moment.  "  Only  one  hundred  and  five  thou 
sand  !  "  ruminates  James  of  the  Beads.  "  I  sup 
pose  Rand  was  afraid !  " 


"  That  is  indeed  a  curious  story,"  observed  the 
Jolly  Doctor,  when  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman, 
being  done  with  James  of  the  Beads,  was  return 
ing  to  his  burgundy;  "  and  did  it  really  happen?  " 

"  Of  a  verity,  did  it,"  returned  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman.  "  I  was  Rand." 

Conversation  fluttered  from  one  topic  to  an 
other  for  a  brief  space,  but  dealt  mainly  with  those 
divers  superstitions  that  folk  affect.  When  signs 
and  omens  were  worn  out,  the  Jolly  Doctor  turned 
upon  the  Old  Cattleman  as  though  to  remind  that 
ancient  practitioner  of  cows  how  it  would  be  now 
his  right  to  uplift  us  with  a  reminiscence. 

"  No,  I  don't  need  to  be  told  it  none,"  said  the 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Old  Cattleman.  "  On  the  principle  of  freeze-out, 
it's  shore  got  down  to  me.  Seein'  how  this  yere 
snow  reminds  me  a  heap  of  Christmas,  I'll  onload 
on  you-all  how  we're  aroused  an'  brought  to  a 
realisin'  sense  of  that  season  of  gifts  once  upon 
a  time  in  Wolfville." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

This  yere  can't  be  called  a  story ;  which  it  can't 
even  be  described  none  as  a  sketch.  Accordin' 
to  the  critics,  who,  bein'  plumb  enable  to  write 
one  themse'fs,  nacherally  knows  what  a  story 
ought  to  be,  no  story's  a  story  onless  she's  built 
up  like  one  of  these  one-sided  hills.  Reelation 
must  climb  painfully  from  base  to  peak,  on  the 
slope  side,  with  interest  on  a  up-grade,  say,  of 
one  foot  in  ten ;  an'  then  when  you-all  arrives  safe 
ly  at  the  summit,  the  same  bein'  the  climax,  you're 
to  pitch  headlong  over  the  precipice  on  the  sheer 
an'  other  side,  an'  in  the  space  of  not  more'n  a 
brace  of  sentences,  land,  bing!  bang!  smash! — all 
broke  up  at  the  bottom.  That,  by  what  you-all 
might  call  "  Our  best  literary  lights,"  would  be 
a  story,  an'  since  what  I'm  about  to  onfold  don't 
own  no  sech  brands  nor  y'ear-marks,  it  can't  come 
onder  that  head. 

This  partic'lar  o'casion  is  when  little  Enright 
Peets  Tutt — said  blessed  infant,  as  I  sets  forth 
former,  bein'  the  conj'int  production  of  Dave  Tutt 
an'  his  esteemable  wife,  Tucson  Jennie — is  comin' 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

eight  years  old  next  spring  round-up.  Little  En- 
right  Peets  is  growin'  strong  an'  husky  now,  an' 
is  the  pride  of  the  Wolfville  heart.  He's  shed 
his  milk  teeth  an'  is  sproutin'  a  second  mouthful, 
white  an'  clean  as  a  coyote's.  Also,  his  cur'osity 
is  deeveloped  powerful  an'  he's  in  the  habit  of 
pervadin'  about  from  the  Red  Light  to  the  New 
York  Store,  askin'  questions ;  an'  he  is  as  familiar 
in  the  local  landscape  as  either  the  Tucson  stage 
or  Old  Monte,  the  drunkard  who  drives  it. 

One  afternoon,  about  first  drink  time,  little  En- 
right  Peets  comes  waddlin'  up  to  Old  Man  En- 
right  on  them  short  reedic'lous  black-b'ar  laigs 
of  his,  an'  says : 

"  Say,  gran'dad  Enright,  don't  you-all  cim- 
marons  never  have  no  Christmas  in  this  camp? 
Which  if  you  does,  all  I  got  to  say  is  I  don't 
notice  no  Christmas  none  since  I've  been  yere, 
an'  that's  whatever !  " 

"  Will  you-all  listen  to  this  preecocious  child !  " 
observes  Enright  to  Doc  Peets,  with  whom  he's 
in  talk.  "  Wherever  now  do  you  reckon,  Doc,  he 
hears  tell  of  Christmas?" 

"How  about  it,  Uncle  Doc?"  asks  little  En- 
right  Peets,  turnin'  his  eyes  up  to  Peets  when  he 
notices  Enright  don't  reply. 

At  this  Enright  an'  Peets  makes  a  disparin' 
gesture  an'  wheels  into  the  Red  Light  for  a  drink, 
leavin'  pore  little  Enright  Peets  standin'  in  the 
street. 

70 


OLD  MAN  ENRIGHT. 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

"  That  baby  puts  us  to  shame,  Doc,"  says  En- 
right,  as  he  signs  up  to  Black  Jack,  the  barkeep, 
for  the  Valley  Tan ;  "  he  shows  us  in  one  word 
how  we  neglects  his  eddication.  The  idee  of  that 
child  never  havin'  had  no  Christmas !  It's  more 
of  a  stain  on  this  coinmoonity  than  not  hangin' 
Navajo  Joe  that  time." 

"  That's  whatever !  "  assents  Peets,  reachin'  for 
the  nose-paint  in  his  turn.  "  '  Out  of  the  mouths 
of  babes  an'  sucklin's,'  as  the  good  book  says." 

This  infantile  bluff  of  little  Enright  Peets  goes 
a  long  way  to  stir  up  the  sensibilities  of  the  public. 
As  for  Enright,  he  don't  scroople  to  take  Dave 
Tutt  to  task. 

"  The  thought  that  you,  Dave,"  says  Enright, 
"you,  a  gent  I  yeretofore  regyards  as  distinguished 
for  every  paternal  virchoo,  would  go  romancin' 
along,  lettin'  that  boy  grow  up  in  darkness  of 
Christmas,  an'  it  one  of  the  first  festivals  of  the 
Christian  world !  As  a  play,  I  says  freely,  that  sech 
neglect  is  plumb  too  many  for  me !  " 

"  She's  shore  a  shame,"  adds  Dan  Boggs,  who's 
also  shocked  a  heap,  and  stands  in  with  Enright 
to  crawl  Dave's  hump,  " she's  shore  a  shame,  never 
to  provide  no  Christmas  for  that  offspring  of 
yours,  an'  leave  him  to  go  knockin'  about  in  his 
ignorance  like  a  blind  dog  in  a  meat  shop.  That's 
what  I  states ;  she's  a  shame !  " 

"  Now  gents,"  reemonstrates  Dave,  "  don't 
press  the  limit  in  these  yere  reecrim'nations,  don't 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

crowd  me  too  hard.  I  asks  you,  whatever  could 
I  do?  If  you-all  enthoosiasts  will  look  this  yere 
Christmas  proposition  ca'mly  in  the  face,  you'll 
begin  to  notice  that  sech  cel'brations  ain't  feas 
ible  in  Arizona.  Christmas  in  its  very  beginnin' 
is  based  on  snow.  Who's  the  reg'lar  round-up 
boss  for  Christmas?  Ain't  he  a  disrepootable 
Dutchman  named  Santa  Claus?  Don't  he  show 
up  wrapped  in  furs,  an'  with  reindeer  an'  sleigh 
an'  hock  deep  in  a  snowstorm?  Answer  me  that? 
Also  show  me  where's  your  snow  an'  where's  your 
sleigh  an'  where's  your  reindeer  an'  where's  your 
Dutchman  in  Wolfville  ?  You-all  better  go  about 
Jixin'  up  your  camp  an'  your  climate  so  as  to  make 
one  of  these  Christmases  possible  before  ever  you 
come  buttin'  in,  cavilin'  an'  criticism'  ag'in  me 
as  a  parent." 

"  Which  jest  the  same,  Dave,"  contends  Dan, 
who  takes  the  eepisode  mighty  sour,  "  it  looks 
like  you-all  could  have  made  some  sort  o'  play." 

About  this  time,  as  addin'  itse'f  to  the  gen'ral 
jolt  given  the  Wolfville  nerve  by  them  Christmas 
questions  put  aforesaid  by  little  Enright  Peets, 
news  comes  floatin'  over  from  Red  Dog  of  a 
awful  spree  that  low-flung  outfit  enjoys.  It's  a 
Six  Shooter  Weddin' ;  so  deenominated  because 
Pete  Bland,  the  outlaw  for  whom  the  party  is 
made,  an'  his  wife,  The  Duchess,  has  been  mar 
ried  six  years  an'  ain't  done  nothin'  but  fight. 
Wherefore,  on  the  sixth  anniversary  of  their  nup- 

72 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

tials,  Red  Dog  resolves  on  a  Six  Shooter  Weddin' ; 
an'  tharupon  descends  on  those  two  wedded  war 
riors,  Pete  an'  The  Duchess,  in  a  body,  packin' 
riddles,  nose-paint,  an'  the  complete  regalia  of  a 
frantic  shindig.  An'  you  hear  me,  gents,  them 
Red  Dog  tarrapins  shore  throws  themse'fs  loose ! 
You-all  could  hear  their  happy  howls  in  Wolfville. 

As  a  reason  for  the  outburst,  an'  one  consistent 
with  its  name,  the  guests  endows  Pete  an'  The 
Duchess  each  with  belts  an'  a  brace  of  guns. 

"  To  the  end,"  says  the  Red  Dog  cha'rman  when 
he  makes  the  presentation  speech,  "  that,  as  be 
tween  Pete  an'  The  Duchess,  we  as  a  commoonity 
promotes  a  even  break,  and  clothes  both  parties 
in  interest  with  equal  powers  to  preserve  the 
peace." 

As  I  observes,  it's  the  story  of  these  proud  doin's 
on  the  locoed  part  of  our  rival,  that  ondoubted 
goes  some  distance  to  decide  us  Wolves  of  Wolf 
ville  on  pullin'  off  a  Christmas  warjig  for  little 
Enright  Peets.  We  ain't  goin'  to  be  outdone 
none  in  this  business  of  being  fervid. 

It's  mebby  a  month  prior  to  Christmas  when 
we  resolves  on  this  yere  racket,  an'  so  we  has 
ample  time  to  prepare.  Almost  every  afternoon 
an'  evenin'  over  our  Valley  Tan,  we  discusses  an' 
does  our  wisest  to  evolve  a  programme.  It's  then 
we  begins  to  grasp  the  wisdom  of  Dave's  observa 
tions  touchin'  how  onfeasible  it  is  to  go  talkin' 
of  Christmas  in  southern  Arizona. 

73 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  Nacherally,"  remarks  Enright,  as  we  sits  about 
the  Red  Light,  turnin'  the  game  in  our  minds, 
"  nacherally,  we  tips  an'  gives  little  Enright  Peets 
presents.  Which  brings  us  within  ropin'  distance 
of  the  inquiry,  '  Whatever  will  we  give  him  ?  ' 

"  We-all  can't  give  him  fish-lines,  an'  seen," 
says  Doc  Peets,  takin'  up  Enright's  argument, 
"  for  thar  ain't  no  fish.  Skates  is  likewise  barred, 
thar  bein'  no  ice ;  an'  sleds  an'  mittens  an'  worsted 
comforters  an'  fur  caps  fails  us  for  causes  sim'lar. 
Little  Enright  Peets  is  too  young  to  smoke ;  Tuc 
son  Jennie  won't  let  him  drink  licker;  thar,  with 
one  word,  is  them  two  important  sources  closed 
ag'in  us.  Gents,  I'm  inclined  to  string  my  bets 
with  Dave ;  I  offers  two  for  one  as  we  sets  yere, 
that  this  framin'  up  a  Christmas  play  in  Arizona 
as  a  problem  ain't  no  slouch." 

"  Thar's  picture  books,"  says  Faro  Nell. 

"  Shore !  "  assents  Cherokee  Hall,  where  he's 
planted  back  of  his  faro  box. 

"  An'  painted  blocks !  " 

"  Good!  "  says  Cherokee. 

"  An'  candy !  " 

"  Nell's  right !  "  an'  Cherokee  coincides  plumb 
through,  "  Books,  blocks,  an'  candy,  is  what  I 
calls  startin'  on  velvet." 

"  Whatever's  the  matter,"  says  Dan  Boggs, 
who's  been  rackin'  his  intellects  a  heap,  "  of  givin' 
little  Enright  Peets  a  faro  layout,  or  mebby  now, 


74 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

a  roolette  wheel  ?  Some  of  them  wheels  is  mighty 
gaudy  furniture !  " 

"  Dan,"  says  Enright,  an'  his  tones  is  severe ; 
"Dan,  be  you-all  aimin'  to  corrupt  this  child?" 
Dan  subsides  a  whole  lot  after  this  yere  reproof. 

"  I  don't  reckon  now,"  observes  Jack  Moore, 
an'  his  manner  is  as  one  ropin'  for  information ;  "  I 
don't  reckon  now  a  nice,  wholesome  Colt's-44, 
ivory  butt,  stamped  leather  belts,  an'  all  that, 
would  be  a  proper  thing  to  put  in  play.  Of  course, 
a  8-inch  gun  is  some  heavy  as  a  plaything  for  a 
infant  only  seven;  but  he'd  grow  to  it,  gents,  he'd 
grow  to  it." 

"  Don't  alloode  to  sech  a  thing,  Jack,"  says  Dan, 
with  a  shudder;  "  don't  alloode  to  it.  Little  En- 
right  Peets  would  up  an'  blow  his  yoothful  light 
out ;  an'  then  Tucson  Jennie  would  camp  on  our 
trails  forevermore  as  the  deestroyers  of  her  child. 
The  mere  idee  gives  me  the  fantods !  "  An'  Dan, 
who's  a  nervous  party,  shudders  ag'in. 

"  Gents,"  says  Texas  Thompson,  "  I  ain't  cut 
in  on  this  talk  for  two  reasons :  one  is  I  ain't  had 
nothin'  to  say;  an'  ag'in,  it  was  Christmas  Day 
when  my  Laredo  wife — who  I  once  or  twice  ad 
verts  to  as  gettin'  a  divorce — ups  an'  quits  me 
for  good.  For  which  causes  it  has  been  my  habit 
to  pass  up  all  mention  an'  mem'ry  of  this  sacred 
season  in  a  sperit  of  silent  pra'r.  But  time  has 
so  far  modified  my  feelin's  that,  considerin'  the 
present  purposes  of  the  camp,  I'm  willin'  to  be 

75 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

heard.  Thar's  nothin'  that  should  be  looked  to 
more  jealously  than  this  yere  givin'  of  presents. 
It's  grown  so  that  as  a  roole  the  business  of  makin' 
presents  degen'rates  to  this:  Some  sport  who 
can't  afford  to,  gives  some  sport  something  he 
don't  need.  Thar's  no  fear  of  the  first,  since  we 
gents  can  afford  anything  we  likes.  As  to  the 
second  prop'sition,  we  should  skin  our  kyards 
some  sharp.  We-all  ought  to  lavish  on  little  En- 
right  Peets  a  present  which,  while  safegyardin'  his 
life  an'  his  morals,  is  calc'lated  to  teach  him  some 
useful  accomplishments.  Books,  blocks,  an  sweet 
meats,  as  proposed  by  our  fac'natin'  townswoman, 
Miss  Faro  Nell  " — Nell  tosses  Texas  a  kiss — "  is 
in  admir'ble  p'int  as  coverin'  a  question  of  amooze- 
ments.  For  the  rest,  an'  as  makin'  for  the  deevel- 
opment  of  what  will  be  best  in  the  character  of 
little  Enright  Peets,  I  moves  you  we-all  turns  in 
an'  buys  that  baby  the  best  bronco — saddle,  bridle, 
rope  an'  spurs,  complete — that  the  southwest 
affords." 

Texas,  who's  clone  stood  up  to  make  this  yere 
oration,  camps  down  ag'in  in  the  midst  of  a  storm 
of  applause.  The  su'gestion  has  immediate  adop 
tion. 

We-all  gives  a  cold  thousand  for  the  little  hoss. 
We  gets  him  of  the  sharp  who — it  bein'  in  the 
old  day  before  railroads — is  slammin'  through  the 
mails  from  Chihuahua  to  El  Paso,  three  hundred 
miles  in  three  nights.  This  bronco — he's  a  deep 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

bay,  shadin'  off  into  black  like  one  of  them  over 
ripe  violins,  an'  with  nostrils  like  red  expandin' 
hollyhocks — can  go  a  hundred  miles  between  dark 
an'  dark,  an'  do  it  three  days  in  a  week.  Which 
he's  shore  a  wonder,  is  that  little  boss;  an'  the 
saddle  an'  upholstery  that  goes  with  him,  Spanish 
leather  an'  gold,  is  fit  for  his  company. 

As  Dan  leads  him  up  in  front  of  the  Red  Light 
Christmas  Eve  for  us  to  look  at,  he  says : 

"  Gents,  if  he  ain't  a  swallow-bird  on  four  legs, 
then  I  never  sees  no  sech  fowl;  an'  the  only  draw 
back  is  that,  considerin'  the  season,  we  can't  hang 
him  on  no  tree." 

An'  yere,  now,  is  where  we-all  gets  scared  up. 
It  spoils  the  symmetry  of  this  story  to  chunk  it 
in  this  a-way  ;  but  I  can't  he'p  myse'f,  for  this 
story,  like  that  tale  of  James  of  the  Beads,  is  troo. 

Jest  as  we-all  is  about  to  prounce  down  with 
our  gifts  on  Dave's  wickeyup  like  a  mink  on  a 
settin'  hen — Dan  bein'  all  framed  an'  frazzled  up 
in  cow-tails  an'  buffalo  horns  like  a  Injun  medicine 
man,  thinkin'  to  make  the  deal  as  Santa  Claus — 
Tucson  Jennie  comes  surgin'  up,  wild  an'  frantic, 
an'  allows  little  Enright  Peets  is  lost.  Dave,  she 
says,  is  chargin'  about,  tryin'  to  round  him  up. 

"  Which  I  knows  he's  done  been  chewed  up  by 
wolves,"  says  Tucson  Jennie,  wringin'  her  hands 
an'  throwin'  her  apron  over  her  head.  "  He'd 
shore  showed  up  for  supper  if  he's  alive." 

It's  obvious  that  before  that  Christmas  can  pro- 
77 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

ceed,  we-all  has  got  to  recover  the  beneficiary. 
Thar's  a  gen'ral  saddlin'  up,  an'  in  no  time  Wolf- 
ville's  population  is  spraddlin'  about  the  surround- 
in'  scenery. 

It  comes  right  though,  an'  it's  Dan  who  makes 
the  turn.  Dan  discovers  little  Enright  Peets 
camped  down  in  the  lee  of  a  mesquite  bush,  seven 
miles  out  on  his  way  to  the  Floridas  mountains. 
He  puts  it  up  he's  goin'  over  to  the  hills  to  have 
a  big  talk  an'  make  medicine  with  Moh-Kwa,  the 
wise  medicine  b'ar  that  Sioux  Sam  yere  has  been 
reelatin'  to  him  about. 

No,  that  child  ain't  scared  none;  he's  takin'  it 
cool  an'  contented,  with  twenty  coyotes  settin' 
about,  blinkin'  an'  silent  on  their  tails,  an'  lookin' 
like  they're  sort  o'  thinkin'  little  Enright  Peets 
over  an'  tryin'  to  figger  out  his  system.  Them 
little  wolves  don't  onderstand  what  brings  that 
infant  out  alone  on  the  plains,  that  a-way  ;  an' 
they're  cogitatin'  about  it  when  Dan  disperses 
'em  to  the  four  winds. 

That's  all  thar  is  to  the  yarn.  Little  Enright 
Peets  is  packed  into  camp  an'  planted  in  the  midst 
of  them  books  an'  blocks  an'  candies  which  Faro 
Nell  su'gests ;  also,  he's  made  happy  with  the  little 
hoss.  Dan,  in  his  medicine  mask  an'  paint,  does 
a  skelp  dance,  an'  is  the  soul  of  the  hour. 

Little  Enright  Peets'  joy  is  as  wide  as  the  ter 
ritory.  Despite  reemonstrance,  he  insists  on  get- 
tin'  into  that  gold-embossed  saddle  an'  givin'  his 

78 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

little  boss  a  whirl  'round  the  camp.  Dan  rides 
along  to  head  off  stampedes. 

On  the  return,  little  Enright  Peets  comes  down 
the  street  like  an  arrow  an'  pulls  up  short.  As 
Dave  searches  him  out  of  the  saddle,  he  says : 

"  Paw,  that  cayouse  could  beat  four  kings  an' 
a  ace." 

That's  reward  enough;  Wolfville  is  never  more 
pleased  than  the  night  it  opens  up  to  little  Enright 
Peets  the  beauties  which  lies  hid  in  Christmas. 
An'  the  feelin'  that  we-all  has  done  this,  sort  o' 
glorifies  an'  gilds  the  profound  deebauch  that  en- 
soos.  Tucson  Jennie  lays  it  down  that  it's  shore 
the  star  Christmas,  since  it's  the  one  when  her 
lost  is  found  an'  the  Fates  in  the  guise  of  Dan 
presents  her  with  her  boy  ag'in.  I  knows  of 
myse'f,  gents,  that  Jennie  is  shore  moved,  for  she 
omits  utter  to  lay  for  Dave  with  reproaches  when, 
givin'  way  to  a  gen'rous  impulse,  he  issues  forth 
with  the  rest  of  the  band,  an'  relaxes  into  a  picnic 
that  savors  of  old  days. 


"  My  friends,"  observed  the  Jolly  Doctor,  as  we 
were  taking  our  candles  preparatory  for  bed,  the 
hour  having  turned  towards  the  late,  "  I  shall 
think  on  this  as  an  occasion  of  good  company. 
And  to-morrow  evening — for  this  storm  will  con 
tinue  to  hold  us  prisoners — you  will  find  unless 

79 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

better  offer,  I  shall  recognize  my  debt  to  you  by 
attempting  a  Christmas  story  myself.  I  cannot 
stir  your  interest  as  has  our  friend  of  camps  and 
trails  with  his  Wolfville  chapter,  but  I  shall  do 
what  lies  in  me." 

"  You  will  tell  us  of  some  Christmas,"  hazarded 
the  Sour  Gentleman,  "  that  came  beneath  your 
notice  as  a  professional  man." 

"  Oh,  no;  not  that,"  returned  the  Jolly  Doctor. 
"  This  is  rather  a  story  of  health  and  robust 
strength  than  any  sick-bed  tale.  It  is  of  gloves 
and  fighting  men  who  never  saw  a  doctor.  I  shall 
call  it  '  The  Pitt  Street  Stringency.' >: 

It  was  eight  of  the  clock  on  the  second  evening 
when  we  gathered  about  the  fire-place.  The  snow 
was  still  falling  and  roads  were  reported  blocked 
beyond  any  thought  of  passage.  We  were  snow 
bound  ;  folk  who  should  know  declared  that  if  a 
road  were  broken  for  our  getting  out  within  a 
week,  it  was  the  best  we  might  look  for. 

No  one  seemed  stricken  of  grief  at  this  prison 
prospect.  As  we  came  about  the  cheery  blaze, 
every  face  was  easy  and  content.  The  Jolly  Doc 
tor  joined  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  in  his  bur 
gundy,  while  the  Sour  Gentleman  and  the  Old 
Cattleman  qualified  for  the  occasion  with  a  copious 
account  of  \vhiskey,  which  the  aged  man  of  cows 
called  "  Nose-paint."  Sioux  Sam  and  I  were  the 
only  "abstainers" — I  had  ceased  and  he  had  never 


80 


THAT  WOLFVILLE  CHRISTMAS. 

commenced — but  as  if  to  make  up,  we  smoked  a 
double  number  of  cigars. 

The  Jolly  Doctor  began  with  the  explanation 
that  the  incidents  he  would  relate  had  fallen  be 
neath  his  notice  when  as  a  student  he  walked  the 
New  York  hospitals;  then,  glass  in  hand,  he  told 
us  the  tale  of  The  Pitt  Street  Stringency. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   PITT  STREET   STRINGENCY. 

"  Another  would-be  sooicide,  eh !  Here,  Kid," 
to  a  sharp  gamin  who  does  errands  and  odd  com 
missions  for  the  house;  "  take  this  mut  in  where 
dey  kills  'em." 

The  speaker  is  a  loud  young  man,  clad  in  gar 
ments  of  violence.  The  derby  tilted  over  eye, 
the  black  cigar  jutting  ceilingward  at  an  agle  of 
sixty  degrees,  the  figured  shirt  whereof  a  domi 
nating  dye  is  angry  red,  the  high  collar  and  flash 
tie,  with  its  cheap  stone,  all  declare  the  Bowery. 
As  if  to  prove  the  proposition  announced  of  his 
costume,  the  young  man  is  perched  on  a  stool, 
the  official  ticket-seller  of  a  Bowery  theatre. 

Mike  Menares,  whom  the  Bowery  person  al 
ludes  to  as  the  "  mut,"  is  a  square-shouldered  boy 
of  eighteen ;  handsome  he  is  as  Apollo,  yet  with 
a  slow,  good-humored  guilelessness  of  face.  He 
has  come  on  business  bent.  That  mighty  pugi 
list,  the  Dublin  Terror,  is  nightly  on  the  stage, 
offering  two  hundred  dollars  to  any  amateur 
among  boxers  who  shall  remain  before  him  four 
Queensberry  rounds.  Mike  Menares,  he  of  the 

82 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

candidly  innocent  countenance,  desires  to  proffer 
himself  as  a  sacrifice. 

"  Youse  is  just  in  time,  sport,"  remarks  the 
brisk  gamin  to  whom  Mike  has  been  committed, 
as  he  pilots  the  guileless  one  to  the  stage  door. 
"  It's  nine  o'clock  now,  an'  d'  Terror  goes  on  to 
do  his  bag-t'umpin'  turn  at  ten.  After  that  comes 
d'  knockin'  out,  see !  But  say !  if  youse  was  tired 
of  livin',  why  didn't  you  jump  in  d'  East  river? 
I'd  try  d'  river  an'  d'  morgue  before  I'd  come  here 
to  be  murdered  be  d'  Terror." 

Mike  makes  no  retort  to  this,  lacking  lightness 
of  temper.  His  gamin  conductor  throws  open 
the  stage  door  and  signals  Mike  to  enter. 

"  Tell  d'  butcher  here's  another  calf  for  him," 
vouchsafes  the  gamin  to  the  stage-hands  inside 
the  door. 

Let  us  go  back  four  hours  to  a  three-room  ten 
ement  in  Pitt  Street.  There  are  two  rooms  and 
a  little  kennel  of  a  kitchen.  The  furnishings  are 
rough  and  cheap  and  clean.  The  lady  of  the  ten 
ement,  as  the  floors  declare,  is  a  miracle  of  soap 
and  water.  And  the  lady  is  little  Mollie  Lacy, 
aged  eleven  years. 

The  family  of  the  Pitt  Street  tenement  is  made 
up  of  three.  There  is  Mike  Menares,  our  hero; 
little  Mollie ;  and,  lastly,  her  brother  Davy,  aged 
nine.  Little  Davy  is  lame.  He  fell  on  the  tene 
ment  stairs  four  years  before  and  injured  his  hip. 
The  hospital  doctors  took  up  the  work  where  the 

83 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

tenement  stairs  left  off,  and  Davy  came  from  his 
sick-bed  doomed  to  a  crutch  for  life. 

Mike  Menares  is  half-brother  of  the  younger 
ones.  Nineteen  years  before,  Mike's  mother, 
Irish,  with  straw-colored  hair  and  blue  eyes,  wed 
ded  one  Menares,  a  Spanish  Jew.  This  fortunate 
Menares  was  a  well-looking,  tall  man;  with  hair 
black  and  stiffening  in  a  natural  pompadour.  He 
kept  a  tobacco  stall  underneath  a  stair  in  Park 
Row,  and  was  accounted  rich  by  the  awfully  poor 
about  him.  He  died,  however,  within  the  year 
following  Mike's  birth ;  and  thus  there  was  an 
end  to  the  rather  thoroughbred  dark  Spanish  Jew. 

Mike's  mother  essayed  matrimony  a  second 
time.  She  selected  as  a  partner  in  this  experi 
ment  a  shiftless,  idle,  easy  creature  named  David 
Lacy,  who  would  have  been  a  plasterer  had  not 
his  indolence  defeated  his  craft.  Little  Mollie, 
and  Davy  of  the  clattering  crutch,  occurred  as  a 
kind  of  penalty  of  the  nuptials. 

Three  years  and  a  half  before  we  encounter 
this  mixed  household,  Lacy,  the  worthless,  sailed 
away  on  a  China  ship  without  notice  or  farewell. 
Some  say  he  was  "shanghaied,"  and  some  that 
he  went  of  free  will.  Mrs.  Lacy  adopted  the 
former  of  the  two  theories. 

"  David  Lacy,  too  idle  to  work  ashore,  assured 
ly  would  not  go  to  sea  where  work  and  fare  are 
tenfold  harder." 

Thus  argued  Mrs.   Lacy.     Still,  a  solution  of 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

Lacy's  reasons  for  becoming  a  mariner  late  in 
life  is  not  here  important.  He  sailed  and  he 
never  returned;  and  as  Mrs.  Lacy  perished  of 
pneumonia  the  following  winter,  they  both  may 
be  permitted  to  quit  this  chronicle  to  be  meddled 
with  by  us  no  further. 

Mike  Menares  had  witnessed  fifteen  years  when 
his  mother  died.  As  suggested,  he  is  a  singularly 
handsome  boy,  and  of  an  appearance  likely  to  im 
press.  From  his  Conemara  mother,  he  received 
a  yellow  head  of  hair.  Underneath  are  a  pair  of 
jet  black  brows,  a  hawkish  nose,  double  rows  of 
strong  white  teeth,  and  deep  soft  black  eyes,  as 
honest  as  a  hound's,  the  plain  bestowal  of  his 
Jewish  father. 

Mike  was  driving  a  delivery  wagon  for  the  great 
grocers,  Mark  &  Milford,  when  his  mother  died. 
This  brought  six  dollars  a  week.  After  the  sad 
going  of  his  mother,  Mike  found  a  second  situa 
tion  wrhere  he  might  work  evenings,  and  thereby 
add  six  further  dollars  to  that  stipend  from  Mark 
&  Milford.  This  until  the  other  day  continued. 
On  twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  with  little  Mollie — 
a  notable  housekeeper — to  manage  for  the  Pitt 
Street  tenement,  the  composite  house  of  Menares 
and  Lacy  fared  well. 

Mike's  evening  labors  require  a  description. 
One  Sarsfield  O'Punch,  an  expert  of  boxing  and 
an  athlete  of  some  eminence,  maintains  a  private 
gymnasium  on  Fifty-ninth  street.  This  personage 

85 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

is  known  to  his  patrons  as  "  Professor  O'Punch." 
Mike,  well-builded  and  lithe,  broad  of  shoulder, 
deep  of  lung,  lean  of  flank,  a  sort  of  half-grown 
Hercules,  finds  congenial  employ  as  aid  to  Profes 
sor  O'Punch.  Mike's  primal  duty  is  to  box  with 
those  amateurs  of  the  game  who  seek  fistic  en 
lightenment  of  his  patron,  and  who  have  been 
carried  by  that  scientist  into  regions  of  half-wis 
dom  concerning  the  bruising  art  for  which  they 
moil.  From  eight  o'clock  until  eleven,  Mike's 
destiny  sets  him,  one  after  the  other,  before  a  full 
score  of  these  would-be  boxers,  some  small  and 
some  big,  some  good  and  some  bad,  some  weak 
and  some  strong,  but  all  zealous  to  a  perspiring 
degree.  These  novices  smite  and  spare  not,  and 
move  with  all  their  skill  and  strength  to  pummel 
Mike.  They  have,  be  it  said,  but  indifferent  suc 
cess;  for  Mike,  waxing  expert  among  experts, 
side-steps  and  blocks  and  stops  and  ducks  and 
gets  away;  and  his  performances  in  these  defensive 
directions  are  the  whisper  of  the  school. 

Now  and  then  he  softly  puts  a  glove  on  some 
eager  face,  or  over  some  unguarded  heart,  or 
feather-like  left-hooks  some  careless  jaw,  to  the 
end  that  the  other  understand  a  peril  and  fend 
against  it.  But  Mike,  working  lightly  as  a  kitten, 
hurts  no  one ;  such  being  the  private  commands 
of  Professor  O'Punch  who  knows  that  to  pound 
a  pupil  is  to  lose  a  pupil. 

It  is  to  be  doubted  if  the  easy-natured  Mike 
86 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

is  aware  of  his  wonderful  strength  of  arm  and 
body,  or  the  cat-like  quickness  and  certainty  of 
his  blows.  During  these  three  years  wherein  he 
has  been  underling  to  Professor  OTunch,  Mike 
strikes  but  two  hard  blows.  One  evening 
several  of  the  followers  of  Professor  OTunch  are 
determining  their  prowess  on  a  machine  intended 
to  register  the  force  of  a  blow.  Following  each 
other  in  a  fashion  of  punching  procession,  these 
aspiring  gymnasts,  putting  their  utmost  into  the 
swings,  strike  with  all  steam.  Four  hundred  to 
five  hundred  pounds  says  the  register;  this  is 
vaunted  as  a  vastly  good  account. 

Mike,  with  folded  arms  and  stripped  to  ring 
costume — his  official  robes — is  looking  on,  a  smile 
lighting  his  pleasant  face.  Mike  is  ever  interested 
and  ever  silent. 

As  the  others  smite,  Mike  beams  with  approval, 
but  makes  no  comment.  At  last  one  observes : 

"  Menares,  how  many  pounds  can  you  strike  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replies  Mike,  in  a  surprised 
way,  "  I  never  tried." 

"  Try  now,"  says  the  other;  "  I've  a  notion  you 
could  hit  hard  enough  if  you  cared  to." 

The  others  second  the  speaker.  Much  and  in 
stant  curiosity  grows  up  as  to  what  Mike  can  do 
with  his  hands  if  he  puts  his  soul  into  it.  There 
is  not  an  amateur  about  but  knows  more  of  Mike 
than  does  the  latter  of  himself.  They  know  him 
as  one  perfect  of  defensive  boxing;  also,  they 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

recall  the  precise  feather-like  taps  which  Mike 
confers  on  the  best  of  their  muster  whenever  he 
chooses;  but  none  has  a  least  of  knowledge  of 
how  bitterly  hard  Mike's  glove  might  be  sent 
home  should  ever  his  heart  be  given  to  the  trial. 

Being  urged,  Mike  begins  to  rouse ;  he  himself 
grows  curious.  It  has  never  come  to  him  as  a 
thought  to  make  the  experiment.  The  "  punching 
machine"  has  stood  there  as  part  of  the  parapher 
nalia  of  the  gymnasium.  But  to  the  fog-witted 
Mike,  who  comes  to  work  for  so  many  dollars  a 
week  and  who  has  not  once  considered  himself 
in  the  light  of  a  boxer,  whether  excellent  or  the 
reverse,  it  held  no  particular  attraction.  It  could 
tell  him  no  secrets  he  cares  a  stiver  to  hear. 

Now,  Mike  for  a  first  time  feels  moved  to  a  bit 
of  self-enlightenment.  Poising  himself  for  the 
effort,  Mike,  with  the  quickness  of  light,  sends  in 
a  right-hand  smash  that  all  but  topples  the  con 
trivance  from  its  base.  For  the  moment  the 
muscles  of  his  back  and  leg  knot  and  leap  in  rope- 
like  ridges ;  and  then  they  as  instantly  sink  away. 
The  machine  registers  eight  hundred  and  ninety- 
one  pounds. 

The  on-gazers  draw  a  long  breath.  Then  they 
turn  their  eyes  on  Mike,  whose  regular  outlines, 
with  muscles  retreated  again  into  curves  and 
slopes  and  shimmering  ripples,  have  no  taint  of 
the  bruiser,  and  whose  handsome  features,  inno- 


88 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

cent  of  a  faintest  ferocity,  recall  some  beautiful 
statue  rather  than  anything  more  viciously  hard. 

Mike's  second  earnest  blow  comes  off  in  this 
sort.  He  is  homeward  bound  from  gymnasium 
work  one  frosty  midnight.  Not  a  block  from  his 
home,  three  evil  folk  of  the  night  are  standing 
beneath  an  electric  light.  Mike,  unsuspicious, 
passes  them.  Instantly,  one  delivers  a  cut  at 
Mike's  head  with  a  sandbag.  Mike,  warned  by 
the  shadow  of  uplifted  arm,  springs  forward  out 
of  reach,  wheels,  and  then  as  the  footpad  blunders 
towards  him,  Mike's  left  hand,  clenched  and  ham- 
merlike,  goes  straight  to  his  face.  Bone  and 
teeth  are  broken  with  the  shock  of  it ;  blood 
spurts,  and  the  footpad  comes  senseless  to  the 
pave.  His  ally,  one  of  the  other  two,  grasps  at 
Mike's  throat.  His  clutch  slips  on  the  stern 
muscles  of  the  athlete's  neck  as  if  the  neck  were 
a  column  of  brass.  Mike  seizes  his  assailant's 
arm  with  his  right  hand;  there  is  a  twist  and  a 
shriek;  the  second  robber  rolls  about  with  a  dis 
located  fore-arm.  The  third,  unharmed,  flies 
screeching  with  the  fear  of  death  upon  him. 

At  full  speed  comes  a  policeman,  warned  of  his 
duty  by  the  howls  of  anguish.  He  surveys  the 
two  on  the  ground ;  one  still  and  quiet,  the  other 
groaning  and  cursing  with  his  twisted  arm.  The 
officer  sends  in  an  ambulance  call.  Then  he  sur 
veys  with  pleased  intentness  the  regular  face  of 
Mike,  cool  and  unperturbed. 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  An  Irish  Sheeny !  "  softly  comments  the  offi 
cer  to  himself. 

He  is  expert  of  faces,  is  the  officer,  and  deduces 
Mike's  two-ply  origin  from  his  yellow  hair,  dark 
eye  and  curved  nose. 

"  You're  part  Irish  and  part  Jew,"  observes  the 
policeman. 

"  My  mother  was  from  Ireland,"  answers  Mike; 
"  my  father  was  a  Spanish  Jew  from  Salamanca. 
I  think  that's  what  they  call  it,  although  I  was 
not  old  enough  when  he  died  to  remember  much 
about  him." 

"  Irish  crossed  on  Jew!  "  comments  the  officer, 
still  in  a  mood  of  thoughtful  admiration.  "  It's 
the  best  prize-ring  strain  in  the  world !  "  The 
officer  is  in  his  dim  wray  a  patron  of  sport. 

Mike  thanks  the  other;  for,  while  by  no  means 
clearly  understanding,  he  feels  that  a  compliment 
is  meant.  Then  Mike  goes  homeward  to  Mollie 
and  little  Davy. 

It  is  the  twenty-third  of  December — two  days 
before  Christmas — when  we  are  first  made  friends 
of  Mike  Menares.  About  a  month  before,  the 
little  family  of  three  fell  upon  bad  days.  Mike 
was  dismissed  by  the  great  grocers,  and  the  six 
dollars  weekly  from  that  quarter  came  to  an  end. 
Mike's  delivery  wagon  wras  run  down  and  crushed 
by  a  car;  and,  while  Mike  was  not  to  blame,  the 
grocers  have  no  time  to  discover  a  justice,  and 
Mike  was  told  to  go. 

90 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

For  mere  food  and  light  and  fire,  Mike's  other 
six  Saturday  dollars  from  Professor  OTunch 
would  with  economy  provide.  But  there  is  the 
rent  on  New  Year's  day!  Also,  and  more  near, 
is  Christmas,  with  not  a  penny  to  spare.  It  must 
perforce  be  a  bare  festival,  this  Christmas.  It  will 
be  a  blow  to  little  Davy  of  the  crutch,  who  has 
talked  only  of  Christmas  for  two  months  past  and 
gone. 

Mike,  as  has  been  intimated,  is  dull  and  slow 
of  brain.  He  has  just  enough  of  education  to  be 
able  to  read  and  write.  He  owns  no  bad  habits 
— no  habits  at  all,  in  fact;  and  the  one  great  pas 
sion  of  his  simple  heart  is  love  without  a  limit 
for  Mollie  and  little  Davy.  He  lives  for  them; 
the  least  of  their  desires  is  the  great  concern  of 
Mike's  life.  Therefore,  when  his  income  shrinks 
from  twelve  dollars  to  six,  it  creeps  up  on  him 
and  chills  him  as  a  loss  to  Mollie  and  Davy.  And 
peculiarly  does  this  sorrowful  business  of  a  ruined 
Christmas  for  Davy  prey  on  poor  Mike. 

"  You  and  I  won't  mind,"  says  housewife  Mollie, 
looking  up  in  Mike's  face  with  the  sage  dignity 
of  her  eleven  years,  "  because  we're  old  enough 
to  understand;  but  I  feel  bad  about  little  Davy. 
It's  the  first  real  awful  Christmas  we've  ever  had." 

Mollie  is  as  bright  and  wise  as  Mike  is  dull. 
Seven  years  her  senior,  still  Mike  has  grown  to 
believe  in  and  rely  altogether  on  Mollie  as  a 
guide.  He  takes  her  commands  without  question, 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

and  does  her  will  like  a  slave.  To  Mollie  goes 
every  one  of  Mike's  dollars;  it  is  Mollie  who  dis 
poses  of  them,  while  Mike  never  gives  them  a 
thought.  They  have  been  devoted  to  the  one  pur 
pose  of  Mike's  labors;  they  have  gone  to  Mollie 
and  little  Davy  of  the  crutch ;  why,  then,  should 
Mike  pursue  them  further? 

Following  housewife  Mollie's  regrets  over  a 
sad  Christmas  that  was  not  because  of  their  pover 
ty  to  be  a  Christmas,  Mike  sits  solemnly  by  the 
window  looking  out  on  the  gathering  gloom  and 
hurrying  holiday  crowds  of  Pitt  Street.  The  folk 
are  all  poor;  yet  each  seems  able  to  do  a  bit  for 
Christmas.  As  they  hurry  by,  with  small  bundles 
and  parcels,  and  now  and  then  a  basket  from 
which  protrude  mayhap  a  turkey's  legs  or 
other  Gymptom  of  the  victory  of  Christmas,  Mike, 
in  the  midst  of  his  sluggish  amiabilities,  discovers 
a  sense  of  pain — a  darkish  thought  of  trouble. 

And  as  if  grief  were  to  sharpen  his  wits,  Mike 
has  for  almost  a  first  and  last  time  an  original 
idea.  It  is  the  thought  natural  enough,  when  one 
reflects  on  Mike's  engagements,  evening  in  and 
evening  out,  with  Professor  O'Punch. 

That  day  Mike,  in  passing  through  the  Bowery, 
read  the  two  hundred  dollars  offer  of  the  self- 
confident  Terror.  At  that  time  Mike  felt  nothing 
save  wonder  that  so  great  a  fortune  might  be  the 
reward  of  so  small  an  effort.  But  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  he  should  try  a  tilt  with  the 

92 


THE  DUBLIN  TERROR. 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

Terror.  In  his  present  stress,  however,  and  with 
the  woe  upon  him  of  a  bad  Christmas  to  dawn 
for  little  Davy,  the  notion  marches  slowly  into 
Mike's  intelligence.  And  it  seems  simple  enough, 
too,  now  Mike  has  thought  of  it;  and  with  nothing 
further  of  pro  or  con,  he  prepares  himself  for  the 
enterprise. 

For  causes  not  clear  to  himself  he  says  nothing 
to  housewife  Mollie  of  his  plans.  But  he  alarms 
that  little  lady  of  the  establishment's  few  sparse 
pots  and  kettles  by  declining  to  eat  his  supper. 
Mollie  fears  Mike  is  ill.  The  latter,  knowing  by 
experience  just  as  any  animal  might,  that  with 
twelve  minutes  of  violent  exercise  before  him,  he 
is  better  without,  while  denying  the  imputation 
of  illness,  sticks  to  his  supperless  resolve. 

Then  Mike  goes  into  the  rear  room  and  dons 
blue  tights,  blue  sleeveless  shirt,  canvas  trunks, 
and  light  shoes ;  his  working  costume.  Over  these 
he  draws  trousers  and  a  blue  sweater;  on  top  of 
all  a  heavy  double-breasted  jacket.  Thrusting 
his  feet,  light  shoes  and  all,  into  heavy  snow-proof 
overshoes,  and  pulling  on  a  bicycle  cap,  Mike  is 
arrayed  for  the  street.  Mollie  knows  of  these 
several  preparations,  the  ring  costume  under  the 
street  clothes,  but  thinks  naught  of  it,  such  being 
Mike's  nightly  custom  as  he  departs  for  the  acad 
emy  of  Professor  O'Punch.  At  the  last  moment, 
Mike  kisses  both  Mollie  and  little  Davy ;  and  then, 
with  a  sudden  original  enthusiasm,  he  says : 

93 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  I've  been  thinkin',  Mollie;  mebby  I  can  get 
some  money.  Mebby  we'll  see  a  good  Christmas, 
after  all." 

Mollie  is  dazed  by  the  notion  of  Mike  thinking; 
but  she  looks  in  his  face,  with  its  honest  eyes  full 
of  love  for  her  and  Davy,  and  as  beautiful  as  a 
god's  and  as  unsophisticated,  and  in  spite  of  her 
self  a  hope  begins  to  live  and  lift  up  its  head. 
Possibly  Mike  may  get  money;  and  Christmas, 
and  the  rent,  and  many  another  matter  then  pinch 
ing  the  baby  housekeeper  and  of  which  she  has 
made  no  mention  to  Mike,  will  be  met  and  con 
sidered. 

"  It'll  be  nice  if  you  should  get  money,  Mike," 
is  all  Mollie  trusts  herself  to  say,  as  she  returns 
Mike's  good-bye  kiss. 

When  Mike  gets  into  Pitt  Street  he  moves 
slowly.  There's  the  crowd,  for  one  thing.  Then, 
too,  it's  over  early  for  his  contest  with  the  Terror. 
Mike  prefers  to  arrive  at  the  theatre  just  in  time 
to  strip  and  make  the  required  application  for 
those  two  hundred  dollars.  It  may  appear  strange, 
but  it  never  once  occurs  to  Mike  that  he  will  not 
last  the  demanded  four  rounds.  But  it  seems 
such  a  weighty  sum !  Mike  doubts  if  the  offer 
be  earnest;  hesitates  with  the  fear  that  the  man 
agement  will  refuse  to  give  him  the  money  at  the 
end. 

"  But  surely,"  decides  Mike,  "  they  will  feel  as 
though  they  ought  to  give  me  something.  I  lose 

94 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

a  dollar  by  not  going  to  Professor  OTunch's; 
they  must  take  account  of  that." 

Mike  loiters  along  with  much  inborn  ease  of 
heart.  Occasionally  he  pauses  to  gaze  into  one 
of  the  cheap  shop  windows,  ablaze,  and  garish  of 
the  season's  wares.  There  is  no  wind ;  the  air  has 
no  point ;  but  it  is  snowing  softly,  persistently, 
flakes  of  a  mighty  size  and  softness. 

Ten  minutes  before  he  arrives  at  that  theatre 
which  has  been  the  scene  of  the  Terror's  triumphs, 
Mike  enters  a  bakery  whereof  the  proprietor,  a 
German,  is  known  to  him.  Mike  has  no  money 
but  he  feels  no  confusion  for  that. 

"John,"  says  Mike  to  the  German;  "  I've  got 
to  spar  a  little  to-night  and  I  want  a  big  plate  of 
soup." 

"  Sure !  "  says  John,  leading  the  way  to  a  rear 
room  which  thrives  greasily  as  a  kind  of  restau 
rant.  "  And  here,  Mike,"  goes  on  John,  as  the 
soup  arrives,  "  I'll  put  a  big  drink  of  sherry  in  it. 
You  will  feel  good  because  of  it,  and  the  sherry 
and  the  hot  soup  will  make  you  quick  and  strong 
already." 

At  the  finish,  Mike,  with  an  eye  of  bland  inno 
cence — for  he  is  certain  the  theatre  will  give  him 
something,  even  if  it  withhold  the  full  two  hun 
dred — tells  John  he  will  pay  for  the  soup  within 
the  hour,  when  he  returns. 

'  That's  all  right,  Mike,"  cries  the  good-natured 
baker,  "  any  time  will  do." 

95 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  This  w'y,  me  cove,"  observes  a  person  with  a 
cockney  accent,  as  the  sharp  gamin  delivers  Mike, 
together  with  the  message  to  the  Terror,  at  the 
stage  door;  "this  w'y;  'ere's  a  dressin'  room  for 
you  to  shift  your  togs." 

Later,  when  Mike's  outer  husks  are  off  and  he 
stands  arrayed  for  the  ring,  this  person,  who  is 
old  and  gray  and  wears  a  scarred  and  battered 
visage,  looks  Mike  over  in  approval : 

"  You  seems  an  amazin'  bit  of  stuff,  lad,"  says 
this  worthy  man ;  "  the  build  of  Tom  Sayres  at 
his  best,  but  'eavier.  I  'opes  you'll  do  this  Mick, 
but  I'm  afeared  on  it.  You  looks  too  pretty;  an' 
you  ain't  got  a  fightin'  face.  How  'eavy  be  you, 
lad?" 

"  One  hundred  and  eighty-one,"  replies  Mike, 
smiling  on  the  Englishman  with  his  boy's  eyes. 

"  Can  you  spar  a  bit?  "  asks  the  other. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  can!"  and  Mike's  tones 
exhibit  surprise. 

"Well,  laddy,"  says  the  other;  "don't  let  this 
Dublin  bloke  rattle  you.  'E's  a  great  blow'ard, 
I  takes  it,  an'  will  quit  if  he  runs  ag'in  two  or 
three  stiff  'uns.  A  score  of  years  ago,  I'd  a-give 
'im  a  stone  an'  done  for  'im  myself.  I'm  to  be  in 
your  corner,  laddy,  an'  I  trusts  you'll  not  disgrace 
me." 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asks  Mike. 

"Oh,  me?"  says  the  other;  "I  works  for  the 
theayter,  laddy,  an',  bein'  as  'ow  I'm  used  to 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

fightin',  I  goes  on  to  'eel  an'  'andle  the  amatoors 
as  goes  arter  the  Terror.  It's  all  square,  laddy; 
I'll  be  be'ind  you  ;  an'  I'll  'elp  you  to  win  those  pen 
nies  if  I  sees  a  w'y." 

"  I  have  also  the  honor,"  shouts  the  loud  master 
of  ceremonies,  "  to  introduce  to  you  Mike  Men- 
ares,  who  will  contend  with  the  Dublin  Terror. 
Should  he  stay  four  rounds,  Marquis  of  Queens- 
berry  rules,  the  management  forfeits  two  hundred 
dollars  to  the  said  Menares." 

"  What  a  model  for  my  Jason,"  says  a  thin 
shaving  of  a  man  who  stands  as  a  spectator  in  the 
wings.  He  is  an  artist  of  note,  and  speaks  to  a 
friend  at  his  elbow.  "  What  a  model  for  my  Jason ! 
I  will  give  him  five  dollars  an  hour  for  three 
hours  a  day.  What's  his  name?  Mike  what?" 
The  battle  is  about  to  commence;  the  friend, 
tongue-tied  of  interest,  makes  no  reply. 

The  Dublin  Terror  is  a  rugged,  powerful  ruffian, 
with  lumpy  shoulders,  thick  short  neck,  and  a 
shock  gorilla  head.  His  little  gray  eyes  are 
lighted  fiercely.  His  expression  is  as  savagely 
bitter  as  Mike's  is  gentle.  The  creature,  a  fighter 
by  nature,  was  born  meaning  harm  to  other  men. 

There  is  a  roped  square,  about  eighteen  feet 
each  way,  on  the  stage,  in  which  the  gladiators 
will  box.  The  floor  is  canvas  made  safe  with 
rosin.  The  master  of  cermonies,  himself  a  pugi 
list  of  celebration,  will  act  as  referee.  The  old  bat 
tered  man  of  White  Chapel  is  in  Mike's  corner. 
7  97 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Another  gentleman,  with  face  similarly  marred, 
but  with  Seven  Dials  as  his  nesting  place,  is  post 
ed  opposite  to  befriend  the  Terror.  There  is 
much  buzz  in  the  audience — a  rude  gathering,  it 
is — and  a  deal  of  sympathetic  admiration  and  not 
a  ray  of  hope  for  Mike  in  the  eyes  of  those  present. 

The  Terror  is  replete  of  a  riotous  confidence 
and  savage  to  begin.  For  two  nights,  such  is  the 
awe  of  him  engendered  among  local  bruisers,  no 
one  has  presented  himself  for  a  meeting.  This 
has  made  the  Terror  hungry  for  a  battle ;  he  feels 
like  a  bear  unfed.  As  he  stands  over  from  Mike 
awaiting  the  call  of  "  Time,"  he  looks  formidable 
and  forbidding,  with  his  knotted  arms  and  mighty 
hands. 

Mike  lounges  in  his  place,  the  perfection  of  the 
athlete  and  picture  of  grace  with  power.  His  face, 
full  of  vacant  amiability,  shows  pleased  and  in 
terested  as  he  looks  out  on  the  crowded,  rampant 
house.  Mike  has  rather  the  air  of  a  spectator 
than  a  principal.  The  crowd  does  not  shake  him ; 
he  is  not  disturbed  by  the  situation.  In  a  fashion, 
he  has  been  through  the  same  thing  every  night, 
save  Sunday,  for  three  years.  It  comes  common 
place  enough  to  Mike. 

In  a  blurred  way  Mike  resents  the  blood-eager 
ness  which  glows  in  the  eyes  of  his  enemy;  but 
he  knows  no  fear.  It  serves  to  remind  him,  how 
ever,  that  no  restraints  are  laid  upon  him  in  favor 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

of  the  brute  across  the  ring,  and  that  he  is  at 
liberty  to  hit  with  what  lust  he  will. 

"  Time !  "  suddenly  calls  the  referee. 

Those  who  entertained  a  forbode  of  trouble 
ahead  for  Mike  are  agreeably  surprised.  With 
the  word  "  Time !  "  Mike  springs  into  tremendous 
life  like  a  panther  aroused.  His  dark  eyes  glow 
and  gleam  in  a  manner  to  daunt. 

The  Terror,  a  gallant  headlong  ruffian,  throws 
himself  upon  Mike  like  a  tornado.  For  full  two 
minutes  his  blows  fall  like  a  storm.  It  does  not 
seem  of  things  possible  that  man  could  last 
through  such  a  tempest.  But  Mike  lasts;  more 
than  that,  every  blow  of  the  Terror  is  stopped  or 
avoided. 

It  runs  off  like  a  miracle  to  the  onlookers,  most 
of  whom  know  somewhat  of  self-defensive  arts. 
That  Mike  makes  no  reprisals,  essays  no  counter- 
hits,  does  not  surprise.  A  cautious  wisdom  would 
teach  him  to  feel  out  and  learn  his  man.  More 
over,  Mike  is  not  there  to  attack ;  his  mere  mission 
is  1o  stay  four  rounds. 

While  spectators,  with  approving  comment  on 
Mike's  skill  and  quickness,  are  reminding  one  an 
other  that  Mike's  business  is  "  simply  to  stay," 
Mike  himself  is  coming  to  a  different  thought.  He 
has  grown  disgusted  rather  than  enraged  by  the 
attacks  of  the  Terror.  His  thrice-trained  eye 
notes  each  detail  of  what  moves  as  a  whirlwind  to 
folk  looking  on ;  his  arm  and  foot  provide  auto  - 

99 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

matically  for  his  defense  and  without  direct  effort 
of  the  brain.  This  leaves  Mike's  mind,  dull  as  it 
is,  with  nothing  to  engage  itself  about  save  a 
contemplation  of  the  Terror.  In  sluggish  sort 
Mike  begins  to  hold  a  vast  dislike  for  that  furious 
person. 

As  this  dislike  commences  to  fire  incipiently, 
he  recalls  the  picture  of  Mollie  and  little  Davy  of 
the  crutch.  Mike  remembers  that  it  is  after  ten 
o'clock,  and  his  two  treasures  must  be  deep  in 
sleep.  Then  he  considers  of  Christmas,  now  but 
a  day  away ;  and  of  the  money  so  necessary  to  the 
full  pleasure  of  his  sleeping  Mollie  and  little  Davy. 

As  those  home-visions  come  to  Mike,  and  his 
antipathy  to  the  Terror  mounting  to  its  height, 
the  grim  impulse  claims  him  to  attack.  Tiger- 
like  he  steps  back  to  get  his  distance;  then  he 
springs  forward.  It  is  too  quickly  done  for  eye 
to  follow.  The  Terror's  guard  is  opened  by  a 
feint;  and  next  like  a  flash  Mike's  left  shoots 
cleanly  in.  There  is  a  sharp  "  spank !"  as  the 
six- ounce  glove  finds  the  Terror's  jaw ;  that  person 
goes  down  like  an  oak  that  is  felled.  As  he  falls, 
Mike's  right  starts  with  a  crash  for  the  heart. 
But  there  is  no  need :  Mike  stops  the  full  blow 
midway — a  feat  without  a  mate  in  boxing.  The 
Terror  lies  as  one  without  life. 

"  \V'y  didn't  you  let  'im  'ave  your  right  like 
you  started,  laddy?"  screams  the  old  Cockney, 
as  Mike  walks  towards  his  corner. 

100 


PITT  STREET  STRINGENCY. 

Mike  laughs  in  his  Way  of  gentle,  soft  good 
nature,  and  points  where  the  Terror,  white  and 
senseless,  bleeds  thinly  at  nose  and  ear. 

"  The  left  did  it,"  Mike  replies. 

Out  of  his  eyes  the  hot  light  is  already  dying. 
He  takes  a  deep,  deep  breath,  that  arches  his 
great  breast  and  makes  the  muscles  clutch  and 
climb  like  serpents;  he  stretches  himself  by  ex 
tending  his  arms  and  standing  high  on  his  toes. 
Meanwhile  he  beams  pleasantly  on  his  grizzled 
adherent. 

"  It  wasn't  much,"  says  Mike. 

"  You  be  the  coolest  cove,  laddy !  "  retorts  the 
other  in  a  rapt  whisper.  Then  he  towels  deftly 
at  the  sweat  on  Mike's  forehead. 

The  decision  has  been  given  in  Mike's  favor. 
And  to  his  delight,  without  argument  or  hesita 
tion,  the  loud  young  man  of  the  vociferous  garb 
comes  behind  the  scenes  and  endows  him  with  two 
hundred  dollars. 

"  Say,"  observes  the  loud  young  man,  admir 
ingly,  "  you  ain't  no  wonder,  I  don't  t'ink !  " 

"  But  how  did  you  come  to  do  it,  Mike  ?  "  asks 
the  good-natured  baker,  as  Mike  lingers  over  a 
midnight  porterhouse  at  the  latter's  restaurant. 

"  I  had  to,  John,"  says  Mike,  turning  his  inno 
cent  face  on  the  other ;  "  I  had  to  win  Christmas 
money  for  Mollie  and  little  Davy." 


101 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"And  what/'  said  the  Sour  Gentleman,  "  be 
came : -of  this  Mike  Mcnares?" 

"  I  should  suppose,"  broke  in  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman,  who  had  followed  the  Jolly  Doctor's 
narrative  with  relish,  "  I  should  suppose  now  he 
posed  for  the  little  sculptor's  Jason." 

"  It  is  my  belief  he  did,"  observed  the  Jolly 
Doctor,  with  a  twinkle,  "  and  in  the  end  he  be 
came  full  partner  of  the  bruiser,  O'Punch,  and 
shared  the  profits  of  the  gymnasium  instead  of 
taking  a  dollar  a  night  for  his  labors.  His  sister 
grew  up  and  married,  which,  when  one  reflects 
on  the  experience  of  her  mother,  shows  she  owned 
no  little  of  her  brother's  courage." 

"  Your  story,"  remarked  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man  to  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "and  the  terrific  blow 
which  this  Menares  dealt  the  Dublin  Terror 
brings  to  my  mind  a  blow  my  father  once  struck." 

This  was  a  cue  to  the  others  and  one  quickly 
seized  on;  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  was  urged 
to  give  the  story  of  that  paternal  blow.  First 
seeing  to  it  that  the  stock  of  burgundy  at  his 
elbow  was  ample,  and  freighting  his  own  and 
the  Jolly  Doctor's  glasses  to  the  brim,  the  Red 
Nosed  Gentleman  coughed,  cleared  his  throat, 
and  then  gave  us  the  tale  of  That  Stolen  Ace  of 
Hearts. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

When  I,  at  the  unripe  age  of  seventeen,  left 
my  father's  poor  cottage-house  on  Tom's  Run 
and  threw  myself  into  life's  struggle,  I  sought 
Pittsburg  as  a  nearest  promising  arena  of  effort. 
I  had  a  small  place  at  a  smaller  wage  as  a  sort 
of  office  boy  and  porter  for  a  down-town  estab 
lishment  devoted  to  a  commerce  of  iron;  but  as 
I  came  early  to  cut  my  connection  with  that  hard 
emporium  we  will  not  dwell  thereon. 

I  have  already  told  you  how  by  nature  I  was 
a  gambler.  I  had  inborn  hankerings  after  games 
of  chance,  and  it  was  scant  time,  indeed,  before  I 
found  myself  on  terms  of  more  or  less  near  ac 
quaintance  with  every  card  sharper  of  the  city. 
And  I  became  under  their  improper  tutelage  an  ex 
pert  cheat  myself.  At  short  cards  and  such  devices 
as  faro  and  roulette,  I  soon  knew  each  devious 
turn  and  was  in  excellent  qualification  to  pillage 
my  way  to  eminence  if  not  to  riches  among  the 
nimble-fingered  nobility  of  the  green  tables  into 
whose  midst  I  had  coaxed  or  crowded  my 
way.  Vast  was  my  ambition  to  soar  as  a  black- 

103 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

leg,  and  no  student  at  his  honest  books  burned 
with  more  fire  to  succeed.  I  became  initiate 
into  such  mysteries  as  the  "bug,"  the  "punch," 
the  "hold-out";  I  could  deal  "double"  or  "from 
the  bottom;  "  was  a  past  master  of  those  dubious 
faro  inventions,  the  "snake,"  the  "end  squeeze," 
and  the  "  balance  top ;  "  could  "  put  back  "  with  a 
clean  deftness  that  might  deceive  even  my  mas 
ters  in  evil  doing,  and  with  an  eye  like  a  hawk 
read  a  deck  of  marked  cards  with  the  same  easy 
certainty  that  I  read  the  alphabet.  It  was  a  com 
mon  compliment  to  my  guilty  merit  that  no  better 
craftsman  at  crooked  play  ever  walked  in  Dia 
mond  Alley. 

No,  as  I've  heretofore  explained,  there  dawned 
a  day  when  I  gave  up  card  gambling  and  played 
no  more.  It  is  now  twenty  years  since  I  wagered 
so  much  as  a  two-bit  piece  in  any  game  other  than 
the  Wall  Street  game  of  stocks.  And  yet  it  was 
no  moral  arousal  that  drew  me  from  roulette, 
from  farobank  and  from  draw  poker.  I  merely 
awoke  to  the  truth  that  the  greatest  simpleton  of 
cards  is  the  professional  gambler  himself;  and 
with  that  I  turned  my  back  on  the  whole  scurvy 
business  and  quit  the  dens  for  the  exchange. 
And  with  no  purpose  to  preach,  I  say  openly  and 
with  a  fullest  freedom  that  the  game  of  stock 
speculation  is  as  replete  of  traps  and  pitfalls,  and 
of  as  false  and  blackleg  character  as  any  worst 
game  of  iniquitous  faro  that  is  dealt  with  trimmed 

104 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

and  sanded  deck  from  a  dishonest  box.  As  an 
arena  of  morals  the  stock  exchange  presents  no 
conscious  improvement  beyond  what  is  offered  by 
the  veriest  dead-fall  ever  made  elate  with  thosq 
two  rings  at  the  bell  which  tell  the  waiting  in 
mates  that  some  "steerer"  is  on  the  threshold 
with  rustic  victim  to  be  fleeced.  I  once  read  that 
the  homestead  of  Captain  Kidd,  the  pirate,  stood 
two  centuries  ago  on  that  plot  of  ground  now 
covered  by  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange ;  and 
I  confess  to  a  smile  when  I  reflected  how  the 
spirit  of  immortal  rapine  would  seem  to  hover 
over  the  place.  The  exchange  is  a  fit  successor 
to  the  habitat  of  that  wild  freebooter  who  died 
and  dried  in  execution  dock  when  long  ago  the 
Stuart  Anne  was  queen. 

During  those  earlier  months  in  Pittsburg,  I 
was  not  permitted  by  my  father — who  had  much 
control  of  me,  even  unto  the  day  of  his  death — 
to  altogether  abandon  Tom's  Run,  and  the  good, 
grimy  miner  folk,  its  inhabitants.  My  week's 
holiday  began  with  each  Saturday's  noon;  from 
that  hour  until  Monday  morning  I  was  free; 
and  thus,  obeying  my  father's  behests,  Saturday 
evening  and  Sunday,  I  was  bound  to  pass  beneath 
my  parents'  roof. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  visits  home  when  I 
first  cheated  at  cards — memorable  event ! — and  it 
was  on  another  that  my  roguery  was  discovered 
and  my  father  struck  that  blow. 

105 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

As  already  stated,  my  father  was  of  Welsh  ex 
traction.  It  was  no  less  the  fact,  however,  that 
his  original  stock  was  Irish;  his  grandfather — I 
believe  it  to  have  been  that  venerable  and  I  trust 
respected  gentleman — coming  to  Wales  from 
somewhere  on  the  banks  of  the  Blackwater.  And 
my  father,  excellent  man!  had  vast  pride  in  his 
Irish  lineage  and  grew  never  so  angry,  particu 
larly  if  a  bit  heated  of  his  Saturday  evening  cups, 
as  when  one  spoke  of  him  as  offshoot  of  the  rocky 
land  of  leeks  and  saintly  David. 

"  What!  "  he  would  cry;  "  because  I  was  born 
in  Wales,  do  you  take  me  for  an  onion-eating 
Welshman?  Man,  I'm  Irish  and  don't  make  that 
mistake  again !  " 

The  vigor  wherewith  his  mine-hardened  fist 
smote  the  table  as  conclusion  to  this,  carried  such 
weight  of  emphasis  that  no  man  was  ever  found 
to  fall  a  second  time  into  the  error. 

For  myself,  the  question  whether  my  ancestors 
were  Welsh  or  Irish  held  little  interest.  I  was 
looking  forward  not  backward,  and  a  hot  avarice 
to  hunt  dollars  drove  from  my  bosom  the  last 
trace  of  concern  touching  a  genealogy.  I  would 
sooner  have  one  year's  run  of  uninterrupted  luck 
at  a  gambling  table  than  to  know  myself  a  direct 
descendant  of  the  Plantagenets.  Not  so  my  dear 
old  father;  to  the  hour  when  death  closed  his  eyes 
— already  sightless  for  ten  years — burned  out 
with  a  blast,  they  were — he  ceased  not  to  regale 

1 06 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

me  with  tales  of  that  noble  line  of  dauntless  Irish 
from  whom  we  drew  our  blood.  For  the  ten  years 
following  the  destruction  of  his  eyes  by  powder, 
I  saw  much  of  my  father,  for  I  established  him  at 
a  little  country  tavern  near  enough  to  the  ocean 
to  hear  the  surf  and  smell  the  salt  breath  of  it, 
and  two  or  three  times  a  week  I  made  shift  to  get 
down  where  he  was.  And  whether  my  stay  was 
for  an  hour  or  for  a  night — as  on  Sunday  this  lat 
ter  came  often  to  be  the  chance — he  made  his 
pedigree,  or  what  he  dreamed  was  such,  the  proud 
burden  of  his  conversation. 

Brian  Boru,  I  remember,  was  an  original  well 
head  of  our  family.  My  father  was  tireless  in  his 
settings  forth  of  this  hero  king  of  Munster;  nor 
did  he  fail  at  the  close  of  his  story  to  curse  the 
assassin  who  struck  down  Boru  at  Clontarf. 
Sometimes  to  tease  him,  I'd  argue  what  must 
have  been  the  weak  and  primitive  inconsequence 
of  the  royal  Boru.  I'd  suggest  that  by  the  sheer 
narrowness  and  savagery  of  the  hour  wherein  that 
monarch  lived,  he  could  have  been  nothing  more 
royal  than  the  mere  king  of  a  kale  patch,  and 
probably  wore  less  of  authority  with  still  less  of 
revenue  and  reverence  than  belong  commonly 
with  any  district  leader  of  Tammany  Hall. 

At  these  base  doubtings  my  parent's  wrath 
would  mount.  He  would  wax  vivid  with  a  pic 
ture  of  the  majesty  and  grandeur  of  the  great 
Boru;  and  of  the  halls  wherein  he  fed  and  housed 

107 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

a  thousand  knights  compared  with  whom  in 
riches,  magnificence,  and  chivalrous  feats  those 
warriors  who  came  about  King  Arthur's  round 
table  showed  paltry,  mean  and  low.  To  crown 
narration  he  would  ascribe  to  Boru  credit  as  a 
world's  first  law  giver  and  hail  him  author  of  the 
"  Code  Brian." 

"  Shure !  "  he  would  say;  "  he  called  his  scholars 
and  his  penmen  about  him  and  he  made  them 
write  do\vn  as  the  wor-rds  fell  from  th'  mouth  av 
him  th'  whole  of  th'  Code  Brian ;  an'  this  in  tur-rn 
was  a  model  of  th'  Code  Napoleon  that  makes  th' 
law  av  Fr-rance  to-day." 

It  was  in  vain  I  pointed  out  that  Napoleon's 
Code  found  its  roots  and  as  well,  its  models,  in 
the  Corpus  Juris  Civilis  of  Justinian — I  had 
learned  so  much  Latin  from  Father  Glennon— 
and  that  nowhere  in  the  English  law  was  the  Code 
Brian,  as  he  called  it,  so  much  as  adverted  to. 

"  An'  that's  th'  Sassenach  jealousy  av  thim !  " 
he  would  say.  "  An'  who  was  this  Justinian  ? 
Who,  indade,  but  a  thievin'  Roman  imp'ror  who 
shtole  his  laws  from  King  Boru  just  as  th'  Dagoes 
now  are  shtealin'  th'  jobs  at  th'  mines  from  th' 
Irish  an'  Welsh  lads  to  whom  they  belong  av 
r-rights." 

After  this  I  said  no  more;  I  did  not  explain 
that  Justinian  and  his  Pandects  and  the  others  of 
his  grand  body  of  civil  law  were  in  existence  five 
centuries  before  the  martyred  Boru  was  born.  That 

1 08 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

discovery  would  have  served  no  purpose  beyond 
my  parent's  exasperation  and  earned  for  myself 
as  well  as  the  world's  historians  naught  save  a 
cataract  of  hard  words. 

You  marvel,  perhaps,  why  I  dwell  with  such 
length  on  the  memory  of  my  father — a  poor, 
blind,  ignorant  miner  of  coal !  I  loved  the  old 
man;  and  to  this  day  when  my  hair,  too,  is  gray 
and  when  I  may  win  my  wealth  and  count  my 
wealth  and  keep  my  wealth  with  any  of  the  land, 
I  recall  him  as  the  only  man  for  whom  I  ever  felt 
either  love  or  confidence  or  real  respect. 

Yes ;  I  heard  much  of  the  blood  of  the  truculent 
yet  wise  Boru;  also  of  younger  ancestors  who 
fought  for  the  Stuarts  against  Cromwell,  against 
Monmouth,  against  William ;  and  later  in  both 
the  "  Fifteen "  and  in  the  "  Forty-five."  Pe 
culiarly  was  I  made  to  know  of  my  mother's  close 
connection  by  blood  with  the  house  of  that  brave 
Sarsfield  "  who,"  as  my  father  explained,  "  fairly 
withstud  th'  Dootchman  at  th'  Boyne;  an'  later 
made  him  quit  befure  th'  walls  av  Limerick." 

There  was  one  tradition  of  the  renowned  Sars 
field  which  the  old  gentleman  was  peculiarly 
prone  to  relate,  and  on  the  head  of  him  who  dis 
trusted  the  legend  there  was  sure  to  fall  a  storm. 
That  particular  tale  concerned  the  Irish  soldier 
and  the  sword  of  Wallace  wight. 

"  Thish  William  Wallace,"  my  father  was  wont 
to  say  as  he  approached  the  myth,  "  was  a  joint 

109 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

(giant),  no  less.  He  was  nine  fut  'leven  inches 
tall  an'  his  soord  was  eight  fut  foore  inches  long. 
It's  in  Stirlin'  Cashtle  now,  an'  there  niver  was 
but  one  man  besides  Wallace  who  cud  handle  it. 
Th'  Black  Douglas  an'  all  av  thim  Scotchmen 
thried  it  an'  failed.  Whin,  one  day,  along  comes 
Gin'ral  Patrick  Sarsfield — a  little  bit  av  a  felly, 
only  five  fut  siven  inches  tall — an'  he  tuk  that 
soord  av  William  Wallace  in  one  hand  an',  me 
son,  he  made  it  whishtle." 

But  I  must  press  to  my  first  crime  of  cards  or 
your  patience  will  desert.  During  those  summer 
months  on  Tom's  Run  when  the  mines  were  open 
and  my  father  and  his  mates  of  the  pick  and  blast 
were  earning  their  narrow  pay,  it  was  the  habit  of 
himself  and  four  or  five  other  gentlemen  of  coal 
to  gather  in  the  Tom's  Run  Arms  when  Saturday 
evening  came  on,  and  relax  into  that  amusement 
dear  to  Ireland  as  "  forty-five."  Usually  they 
played  for  a  dime  a  corner;  on  occasional  rich 
evenings  the  stakes  mounted  dizzily  to  two-bits, 
though  this  last  was  not  often. 

Now  I  was  preyed  on  by  a  desire  to  make  one  at 
this  Saturday  contention,  but  my  father  would 
never  consent. 

"Jack,"  he'd  say;  "you'd  only  lose  your 
money.  Shure !  you're  nawthin'  but  a  boy  an' 
not  fit  to  pla-ay  cards  with  th'  loikes  av  grown-up 
men." 

But  I  persisted;  I  argued — to  myself,  you  may 
no 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

be  certain — while  I  might  be  no  match  for  these 
old  professors  of  forty-five  who  played  the  game 
with  never  a  mistake,  if  I,  like  them,  played  hon 
estly,  that  the  cunning  work  I  meditated  could 
not  fail  to  bring  me  in  the  wealth. 

At  last  one  of  the  others  came  to  my  rescue. 

"  Let  him  pla-ay,  Mishter  Roche,"  he  said. 
"  Let's  win  his  money  fr-rom  him  an'  it'll  be  a 
lesson.  He'll  not  lose  much  befure  he'll  be  gla-ad 
to  quit." 

"All  right,  thin,"  replied  my  father;  "you  can 
pla-ay,  Jack,  till  you  lose  fifty  cints ;  an'  that'll  do 
ye.  Moind  now !  whin  you  lose  fifty  cints  you 
shtop."  And  so  I  was  made  one  of  the  circle. 

As  I  foresaw,  I  did  not  lose  the  four-bits  which 
my  indulgent  parent  had  marked  as  the  limits  of 
farthest  sacrifice  to  my  ambitious  innocence. 
Already  I  had  brought  back  to  Tom's  Run  a 
curious  trick  or  two  from  Pittsburg.  It  soon 
came  to  be  my  "  deal,"  and  the  moment  I  got  the 
cards  in  my  hands  I  abstracted  the  ace  of  hearts — 
a  most  doughty  creature  in  this  game  of  forty- 
five  ! — and  dropped  it  in  my  lap,  covering  the  fact 
from  vulgar  eyes  with  a  fold  of  my  handker 
chief.  That  was  all  the  chicane  I  practiced;  I 
kept  myself  in  constant  possession  of  the  ace  of 
hearts  and  played  it  at  a  crisis ;  and  at  once 
the  wagered  dimes  of  the  others  began  to  travel 
into  my  illicit  pockets  where  they  made  a  merry 
jingle,  I  warrant  you! 

in 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

The  honest  Irish  from  whom  I  was  filching 
these  small  tributes  never  once  bethought  that 
I  might  play  them  sharp;  they  attributed  my 
gains  to  luck  and  loud  was  exclamation  over  my 
good  fortune.  Time  and  again,  for  I  was  not 
their  equal  as  a  mere  player,  I'd  board  the  wrong 
card.  When  I'd  make  such  a  mistake,  one  of 
them  would  cry :  "  D'ye  moind  that  now !  D'ye 
moind  how  ba-ad  he  plays !  " 

"  An'  yet,"  another  would  add,  "  an'  yet  he 
rakes  th'  money !  " 

Altogether  I  regarded  my  entrance  into  this 
ten-cent  game  of  forty-five  a  most  felicitous  affair. 
I  won  at  every  sitting;  getting  up  on  some  occa 
sions  with  as  much  as  eight  dollars  of  profit  for 
my  evening's  work.  In  those  days  I  went  will 
ingly  to  Tom's  Run,  quitting  Pittsburg  without  a 
sigh;  and  such  was  my  ardor  to  fleece  these  coal- 
digging  comrades  of  my  father — and  for  that 
matter,  my  father,  also;  for  like  your  true  gam 
bler,  I  played  no  favorites  and  was  as  warm  to 
gather  in  the  dimes  of  my  parent  as  any — that  I 
was  usually  found  waiting  about  the  forty-five  table 
when,  following  supper,  they  appeared.  And  it  all 
went  favorably  with  me  for  perhaps  a  dozen  sit 
tings  ;  my  aggregate  gains  must  have  reached  the 
mighty  sum  of  sixty  dollars.  Of  a  merry  verity! 
silver  was  at  high  tide  in  my  hands ! 

One  evening  as  the  half  dozen  devoted  to 
the  science  of  forty-five  drew  up  to  the  table— 

112 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

myself  a  stripling  boy,  the  others  bearded  miner 
men — my  father  complained  of  an  ache  in  his 
head  or  an  ache  in  his  stomach  or  some  malady 
equally  cogent,  and  said  he  would  not  play. 

"  I'll  have  me  poipe  an'  me  mug  av  beer,"  he 
said,  "  an'  resht  mesilf  a  bit.  It's  loike  I'll  feel 
betther  afther  a  whoile  an'  then  I'll  take  a 
ha-and." 

Play  began,  while  my  suffering  father  with  his 
aches,  his  tobacco  and  his  beer,  sat  nursing  him 
self  at  a  near-by  table.  I  lost  no  time  in  acquir 
ing  my  magic  ace  of  hearts  and  at  once  the  stream 
of  usual  fortune  set  in  to  flow  my  way. 

Ten  years,  yes,  one  year  later,  my  suspicions 
touching  my  father's  illness  and  his  reasons  for 
this  unprecedented  respite  from  the  cares  of 
forty-five  would  have  stood  more  on  tiptoe.  As 
it  was,  however,  it  never  assailed  me  as  a  thought 
that  I  had  become  the  subject  of  ancestral  doubts. 
I  cheated  on  and  on,  and  made  hay  while  the  sun 
shone  with  never  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

It  was  not  noticed  by  me,  but  following  a  half- 
hour's  play  and  while  I  was  shuffling  the  cards 
for  a  deal,  my  parent  stole  noiselessly  behind  my 
chair.  He  reached  under  my  arm  and  lifted  the 
corner  of  the  concealing  handkerchief  which  filled 
my  lap.  Horrors !  there  lay  the  tell-tale  ace  of 
hearts ! 

Even  then  I  realized  nothing  and  knew  not  that 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

my  villainy  was  made  bare.  This  news,  however, 
was  not  long  in  its  arrival. 

"  Niver  did  I  r-raise  a  boy  to  be  a  r-robber!  " 
roared  my  father. 

Coincident  with  this  remark,  the  paternal 
hand — not  the  lightest  nor  least  formidable  on 
Tom's  Run — dealt  me  a  buffet  on  the  head  that 
lifted  me  from  my  sinful  chair  and  hurled  me 
across  the  room  and  against  the  wall  full  fifteen 
feet  away.  My  teeth  clattered,  my  wits  reeled, 
while  my  ill-gotten  silver  danced  blithely  to 
metallic  music  of  its  own. 

"  Niver  did  I  r-raise  a  boy  to  be  a  r-robber !  " 
again  shouted  my  father.  Then  seizing  me  by 
the  collar,  he  lifted  me  to  my  feet.  "  Put  all  your 
money  on  the  ta-able !  "  he  cried ;  "  put  ivry  groat 
avit!" 

There  was  no  escape ;  I  was  powerless  in  the 
talons  of  an  inexorable  fate.  My  pockets  yielded 
a  harvest  of  hardby  seventy-five  dollars — some 
thing  more  than  the  total  of  my  winnings — and 
this  was  placed  in  the  center  of  the  table  which 
had  so  lately  witnessed  my  skill.  An  even  distribu 
tion  was  then  made  by  my  father  among  the  vic 
tims,  each  getting  his  share  of  the  recovered 
treasure ;  my  father  keeping  none  for  himself 
though  urged  by  the  others  to  that  end. 

"  No,"  said  my  father;  "  I'll  touch  niver  a  penny 
av  it.  You  take  th'  money;  I'll  make  shift  that 


114 


THAT  STOLEN  ACE  OF  HEARTS. 

the  dishgrace  of  bein'  fa-ather  to  a  rapparee  shall 
do  for  me  share !  " 

With  that,  he  withdrew  from  the  scene  of  my 
downfall,  carrying  me  fast  in  his  clutch;  and 
later — bathed  in  tears  of  pain  and  shame — I  was 
dragged  into  the  presence  of  my  mother  and 
Father  Glennon  by  the  ignominious  ear. 

It  did  not  cure  me  of  cards,  however;  I  ran 
the  whole  gamut  of  gambling  and  won  dangerous 
prominence  as  a  sharper  of  elevation  and  rank. 
To-morrow  evening,  should  you  care  to  listen,  I 
may  unfold  concerning  other  of  my  adventures; 
I  may  even  relate — as  a  tale  most  to  my  diplo 
matic  glory,  perhaps — how  I  brought  Casino  Joe 
to  endow  me  with  that  great  secret,  richer,  in 
truth !  than  the  mines  of  Peru !  of  "  How  to  Tell 
the  Last  Four." 


"  Speakin'  of  gamblin',"  observed  the  Old 
Cattleman  when  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  had 
come  to  a  full  stop,  "  I'll  bet  a  bloo  stack  that  as 
we-alls  sets  yere  talkin',  the  games  is  goin'  brisk 
an'  hot  in  Wolfville.  Thar  won't  be  no  three  foot 
of  snow  to  put  a  damper  on  trade  an'  hobble  a 
gent's  energies  in  Arizona."  This  last  with  a 
flush  of  pride. 

"  Does  everybody  gamble  in  the  West?  "  asked 
the  Sour  Gentleman. 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  Every  sport  who's  got  the  dinero  does/'  re 
sponded  the  Old  Cattleman.  "  White  folks,  In 
juns  an'  Mexicans  is  right  now  at  roulette  an'  faro 
bank  an'  monte  as  though  they  ain't  got  a  minute 
to  live.  I  hates  to  concede  'em  so  much  darin', 
but  the  Mexicans,  speshul,  is  zealous  for  specyoo- 
lations.  Which  they'd  shore  wager  their  immor 
tal  souls  on  the  turn  of  a  kyard,  only  a  Greaser's 
soul  don't  own  no  market  valyoo." 

"  If  you  wall,"  said  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "  you 
might  tell  us  something  of  Mexicans  and  their 
ways,  their  labors  and  relaxations — their  loves 
and  their  hates.  I'd  be  pleased  to  hear  of  those 
interesting  people  from  one  who  knows  them  so 
thoroughly." 

"  Which  I  shore  knows  'em,"  returned  the  Old 
Cattleman,  "  an'  as  I  concedes  how  each  gent 
present  oughter  b'ar  his  share  of  the  entertain 
ment,  I'll  tell  you  of  Chiquita  of  Chaparita." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CHIQUITA  OF   CHAPARITA. 

Which  I  doubts  some  if  I'm  a  proper  party  to 
be  a  historian  of  Mexicans.  Nacherally  I  abhors 
'em;  an'  when  a  gent  abhors  anything,  that  is  a 
Caucasian  gent,  you-all  can  gamble  the  limit  he 
won't  do  it  jestice.  His  prejudices  is  bound  to 
hit  the  surface  like  one  of  these  yere  rock  ledges 
in  the  mountains.  Be  white  folks  ag'in  Mexi 
cans?  Gents,  the  paleface  is  ag'in  everybody  but 
himse'f ;  ag'in  Mexicans,  niggers,  Injuns,  Chinks- 
he's  ag'in  'em  all;  the  paleface  is  overbearin'  an' 
insolent,  an'  because  he's  the  gamest  fighter  he 
allows  he's  app'inted  of  Providence  to  prance 
'round,  tyrannizin'  an'  makin'  trouble  for  every 
body  whose  color  don't  match  his  own.  Shore, 
I'm  as  bad  as  others;  only  I  ain't  so  bigoted  I 
don't  savey  the  fact. 

Doc  Peets  is  the  one  white  gent  I  encounters 
who's  willin'  to  mete  out  to  Mexicans  a  squar' 
deal  from  a  squar'  deck.  I  allers  reckons  these 
yere  equities  on  Peets'  part  arises  a  heap  from 
his  bein'  a  scientist.  You  take  a  scientist  like 
Peets  an'  the  science  in  him  sort  o'  submerges  an* 

117 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

drowns  out  what  you-all  might  term  the  racial 
notions  native  to  the  hooman  soil.  They  comes 
to  concloosions  dispassionate,  that  a-way,  scien 
tists  does;  an'  Mexicans  an'  Injuns  reaps  a  milder 
racket  at  their  hands.  With  sech  folks  as  Old 
Man  Enright  an'  me,  who's  more  indoorated  an' 
acts  on  that  arrogance  which  belongs  with  white 
folks  at  birth,  inferior  races  don't  stand  no  daz- 
zlin'  show. 

Mexicans,  as  a  herd,  is  stunted  an'  ondeveloped 
both  mental  an'  physical.  They  bears  the  same 
compar'son  to  white  folks  that  these  yere  little 
broncos  does  to  the  big  hosses  of  the  States.  In 
intellects,  Mexicans  is  about  'leven  hands  high. 
To  go  into  one  of  their  jimcrow  plazas  is  like 
retreatin'  back'ard  three  hundred  years.  Their 
idees  of  agriculture  is  plenty  primitive.  An'  their 
minds  is  that  bogged  down  in  ignorance  you-all 
can't  teach  'em  nothin'.  They  clings  to  their 
worm-eaten  customs  like  a  miser  to  his  money. 
Their  plow  is  a  wedge  of  wood ;  they  hooks  on 
about  three  yoke  of  bulls — measley,  locoed  critters 
— an'  with  four  or  five  Greasers  to  screech  an'  herd 
an'  chunk  up  the  anamiles  they  goes  stampedin' 
back'ard  an'  for'ard  on  their  sandy  river-bottom 
fields — the  same  bein'  about  as  big  as  a  saddle 
blanket — an'  they  calls  that  plowin'.  They  sows 
the  grain  as  they  plo\vs,  sort  o?  scratches  it  in; 
an'  when  it  comes  up  they  don't  cut  it  none  same 
as  we-all  harvests  a  crop.  No;  they  ain't  capable 

118 


CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA. 

of  sech  wisdom.  They  pulls  it  up  by  the  roots 
an'  ties  it  in  bundles.  Then  they  sweeps  off  a 
clean  spot  of  earth  like  the  floor  of  one  of  these 
yere  brickyards  an'  covers  it  with  the  grain  same 
as  if  it's  a  big  mat.  Thar's  a  corral  constructed 
'round  it  of  posts  an'  lariats;  an'  next,  on  top  of 
the  mat  of  grain,  they  drives  in  the  loose  burros, 
cattle,  goats,  an'  all  things  else  that's  got  a  hoof; 
an'  tharupon  they  jams  this  menagerie  about  ontil 
the  grain  is  trodden  out.  That's  what  a  Greaser 
regyards  as  threshin'  grain,  so  you  can  estimate 
how  ediotic  he  is.  When  it's  trompled  sufficient, 
he  packs  off  the  stalks  an'  straw  to  make  mats  an' 
thatches  for  the  'dobies;  while  he  scrapes  up  the 
dust  an'  wheat  into  a  blanket  an'  climbs  onto  the 
roof  of  his  casa  an'  pours  it  down  slow  onto  the 
ground,  an'  all  so  it  gives  the  wind  a  openin'  to 
get  action  an'  blow  away  the  chaff  an'  dust. 

But  what's  the  use  of  dilatin'  on  savageries  like 
that?  I  could  push  for'ard  an'  relate  how  they 
makes  flour  with  a  stone  rollin'-pin  in  a  stone 
trough ;  how  they  grinds  coffee  by  wroppin'  it  in 
a  gunny  sack  an'  beatin'  it  with  a  rock ;  but  where's 
the  good?  It  would  only  go  lowerin'  your  esti 
mates  of  hooman  nature  to  no  end. 

Whatever  be  their  amoosements?  Everything 
on  earth  amooses  'em.  They  has  so  many  holi 
days,  Mexicans  does,  they  ain't  hardly  left  no 
time  for  work.  They're  pirootin'  about  constant, 
grinnin'  an'  chatterin'  like  a  outfit  of  bloo-jays. 

119 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

No;  they  ain't  singers  none.  Takin'  feet  an' 
fingers,  that  a-way,  a  Mexican  is  moosical.  They 
emerges  a  heap  strong  at  dancin',  an'  when  it 
comes  to  a  fandango,  hens  on  hot  griddles  is  ex 
amples  of  listless  abstraction  to  'em.  With  sech 
weepons,  too,  as  guitars  an'  fiddles  an'  a  gourd 
half-full  of  gravel  to  shake  an'  beat  out  the  time, 
they  can  make  the  scenery  ring.  Thar  they  stops, 
however ;  a  Greaser's  moosic  never  mounts  higher 
than  the  hands.  At  singin',  crows  an'  guinea 
chickens  lays  over  'em  like  a  spade  flush  over 
nines-up. 

Most  likely  if  I  reelates  to  you-all  the  story  of 
a  day  among  the  Mexicans  you  comes  to  a  cl'arer 
glimpse  of  their  loves  an'  hates  an'  wars  an' 
merry-makin's.  Mexicans,  like  Injuns  when  a 
paleface  is  about,  lapses  into  shyness  an'  timidity 
same  as  one  of  these  yere  cottontail  rabbits.  But 
among  themse'fs,  when  they  feels  onbuckled  an' 
at  home,  their  play  runs  off  plenty  different. 
Tharfore  a  gent's  got  to  study  Mexicans  onder 
friendly  auspices,  an'  from  the  angle  of  their  own 
home-life,  if  he's  out  to  rope  onto  concloosions 
concernin'  them  that'll  stand  the  tests  of  trooth. 

It's  one  time  when  I'm  camped  in  the  Plaza 
Chaparita.  It's  doorin'  the  eepock  when  I  freights 
from  Vegas  to  the  Canadian  over  the  old  Fort 
Bascom  trail.  One  of  the  mules — the  nigh  swing 
mule,  he  is — quits  on  me,  an'  I  has  to  lay  by  ontil 
that  mule  recovers  his  sperits. 

120 


CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA. 

It's  a  fieste  or  holiday  at  the  Plaza  Chaparita. 
The  first  local  sport  I  connects  with  is  the  padre. 
He's  little,  brown,  an'  friendly;  an'  has  twinklin' 
beady  eyes  like  a  rattlesnake;  the  big  difference 
bein'  that  the  padre's  eyes  is  full  of  fun,  whereas 
the  optics  of  rattlesnakes  is  deevoid  of  humor 
utter.  Shore;  rattlesnakes  wouldn't  know  a  joke 
from  the  ace  of  clubs. 

The  padre's  on  his  way  to  the  'dobe  church ;  an' 
what  do  you-all  rigger  now  that  divine's  got  onder 
his  arm?  Hymn  books,  says  you?  That's  where 
you're  barkin'  at  a  knot.  The  padre's  packin'  a 
game  chicken — which  the  steel  gaffs,  drop-socket 
they  be  an'  of  latest  sort,  is  in  his  pocket — an'  as 
I  goes  squanderin'  along  in  his  company,  he  in 
forms  me  that  followin'  the  services  thar'll  be  a 
fight  between  his  chicken  an'  a  rival  brass-back 
belongin'  to  a  commoonicant  named  Romero. 
The  padre  desires  my  presence,  an'  in  a  sperit  of 
p'liteness  I  allows  I'll  come  idlein'  over  onless 
otherwise  engaged,  the  same  bein'  onlikely. 

Gents,  you  should  have  witnessed  that  battle! 
It's  shore  lively  carnage;  yes,  the  padre's  bird 
wins  an'  downs  Romero's  entry  the  second  buckle. 

On  the  tail  of  the  padre's  triumph,  one  of  his 
parishioners  gets  locoed,  shakes  a  chicken  outen 
a  bag  an'  proclaims  that  he'll  fight  him  ag'in  the 
world  for  two  dollars  a  side.  At  that  another 
enthoosiast  gives  notice  that  if  the  first  parishioner 
will  pinch  down  his  bluff  to  one  dollar — he  says 

121 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

he  don't  believe  in  losin'  an'  winnin'  fortunes  on 
a  chicken — he'll  prodooce  a  bird  an'  go  him  once. 

The  match  is  made,  an'  while  the  chickens  is 
facin'  each  other  a  heap  feverish  an'  fretful,  peckin' 
an'  see-sawin'  for  a  openin',  the  various  Greasers 
who's  bet  money  on  'em  lugs  out  their  beads  an' 
begins  to  pray  to  beat  four  of  a  kind.  Shore, 
they're  prayin'  that  their  partic'lar  chicken'll  win. 
Still,  when  I  considers  that  about  as  many 
Greasers  is  throwin'  themse'fs  at  the  throne  of 
grace  for  one  as  for  the  other,  if  Providence  is 
payin'  any  attention  to  'em — an'  I  deems  it  doubt 
ful — I  estimates  that  them  orisons  is  a  stand-off. 

As  the  birds  goes  to  the  center,  one  party 
sprinkles  something  on  his  chicken.  At  that  the 
opposition  grabs  up  his  bird  an'  appeals  to  the 
padre.  He  challenges  the  other's  bird  because  he 
says  he's  been  sprinkled  with  holy-water. 

The  padre  inquires,  an'  the  holy-water  sharp 
confesses  his  guilt.  Also,  he  admits  that  he  hides 
the  gaffs  onder  the  altar  cloth  doorin'  the  recent 
services  so  they'll  acquire  extra  grace  an'  power. 

The  padre  turns  severe  at  this  an'  declar's  the 
fight  off;  an'  he  forfeits  the  doctored  chicken  an' 
the  gaffs  to  himse'f  a  whole  lot — he  representin' 
the  church — to  teach  the  holy-\vater  sharp  that 
yereafter  he's  not  to  go  seizin'  onfair  advantages, 
an'  to  lead  a  happier  an'  a  better  life.  That  cul 
prit  don't  say  a  word  but  passes  over  his  chicken 
an*  the  steel  regalia  for  its  heels.  You  can  bet 
that  padre's  word  is  law  in  the  Plaza.  Chaparita! 

122 


CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA. 

Followin'  this  fiasco  of  the  holy-water  chicken 
the  Mexicans  disperses  themse'fs  to  pulque  an' 
monte  an'  the  dance.  The  padre  an'  me  sa'nters 
about;  me  bein'  a  Americano,  an'  him  what  you 
might  call  professionally  sedate,  we-all  don't  go 
buttin'  into  the  baile  nor  the  pulque  nor  the  gam- 
blin'.  The  padre  su'gests  that  we  go  a-weavin' 
over  to  his  own  camp,  which  he  refers  to  as  Casa 
Dolores — though  thar's  nothin'  dolorous  about 
it,  the  same  bein'  the  home  of  mirth  an'  hilarity, 
that  a-way — an'  he  allows  he's  got  some  Valley 
Tan  hived  up  that'll  make  me  forget  my  nation 
ality  if  stoodiously  adhered  to.  It's  needless  to 
observe  that  I  accompanies  the  beady-eyed  padre 
without  a  struggle.  An'  I  admits,  free  an'  with 
out  limitation,  that  said  Valley  Tan  merits  the 
padre's  encomiums  an'  fixes  me  in  my  fav'rite 
theery  that  no  matter  what  happens,  the  best 
happens  to  the  church. 

As  we  crosses  the  little  Plaza  on  our  way  to 
Casa  Dolores  we  passes  in  front  of  the  church. 
Thar  on  the  grass  lays  the  wooden  image  of  the 
patron  saint  of  the  Plaza  Chaparita.  This  figger 
is  about  four  foot  long,  an'  thar's  a  hossha'r  lariat 
looped  onto  it  where  them  Mexicans  who  gets 
malcontent  with  the  saint  ropes  him  off  his 
perch  from  up  in  front  of  the  church.  They've 
been  haulin'  the  image  about  an'  beatin'  it 
with  cactus  sticks  an'  all  expressive  of  disdain. 


123 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

I  asks  the  padre  why  his  congregation  engages 
itse'f  in  studied  contoomely  towards  the  Plaza's 
saint.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders,  spreads  his 
hands  palm  out,  an'  says  it's  because  the  Plaza's 
sheep  gets  sick.  I  su'gests  that  him  an'  me  cut 
in  an'  rescoo  the  saint;  more  partic'lar  since  the 
image  is  all  alone,  an'  the  outfit  that's  been  beatin' 
him  up  has  abandoned  said  corrections  to  drink 
pulque  an'  exercise  their  moccasins  in  the  baile. 
But  the  padre  shakes  his  head.  He  allows  it's  a 
heap  better  to  let  the  public  fully  vent  its  feelin's. 
He  explains  that  when  the  sheep  gets  well  the 
congregational  round-up  the  image,  give  him  a 
reproachful  talk  an'  a  fresh  coat  of  paint,  an'  put 
him  back  on  his  perch.  The  saint'll  come  winner 
on  the  deal  all  right,  the  padre  says. 

"  Besides,"  argues  the  padre,  "  it  is  onneces- 
sary  for  pore  blinded  mortals  to  come  pawin' 
about  to  protect  a  saint.  These  yere  images,"  he 
insists,  "  can  look  after  themse'fs.  They'll  find 
the  way  outen  their  troubles  whenever  they  gets 
ready." 

At  that  we  proceeds  for'ard  to  Casa  Dolores 
an'  the  promised  Valley  Tan,  an'  leaves  the 
wooden  saint  to  his  meditations  on  the  grass. 
After  all,  I  agrees  with  the  padre.  It's  the  saint's 
business  to  ride  herd  on  the  interests  of  the  Plaza 
Chaparita ;  an'  if  he  goes  to  sleep  on  the  lookout's 
stool  an'  takes  to  neglectin'  sech  plays  as  them 
sheep  gettin'  sick,  whatever  is  the  Greasers  goin' 

124 


CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA. 

to  do?  They're  shore  bound  to  express  their 
disapproval;  an'  I  reckons  as  good  a  scheme  as 
any  is  to  caper  up,  yank  the  careless  image  outen 
his  niche  with  a  lariat,  an'  lam  loose  an'  cavil  at 
him  with  a  club. 

This  yere  fieste  at  the  Plaza  Chaparita  is  a  day 
an'  night  of  laughter,  dance  an'  mirth.  But  it 
ends  bad.  The  padre  an'  me  is  over  to  the  dance- 
hall  followin'  our  investigations  touchin'  the  Val 
ley  Tan  an'  the  padre  explains  to  me  how  he 
permits  to  his  people  a  different  behavior  from 
what's  possible  among  Americanos. 

"  I  studies  for  the  church  in  Baltimore,"  the 
padre  says,  "  an'  thar  the  priest  must  keep  a  curb 
on  his  Americano  parishioners.  They  are  not 
like  Mexicanos.  They're  fierce  an'  headlong  an' 
go  too  far.  If  you  let  them  gamble,  they  gamble 
too  much;  if  you  let  them  drink,  they  drink  too 
much.  The  evil  of  the  Americano  is  that  he 
overplays.  It  is  not  so  with  the  Mexicano.  If 
the  Mexicano  gambles,  it  is  only  a  trifle  an'  for 
pleasure ;  if  he  drinks,  it  is  but  enough  to  free  a 
bird's  song  in  his  heart.  All  my  people  drink  an' 
dance  an'  gamble;  but  it's  only  play,  it  is  never 
earnest.  See !  in  the  wrhole  Plaza  Chaparita  you 
find  no  drunkard,  no  pauper;  no  one  is  too  bad 
or  too  good  or  too  rich  or  too  poor  or  too  un 
happy." 

Then  the  priest  beams  on  me  like  he  disposes 
of  the  question;  an'  since  I've  jest  been  drinkin' 

125 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

his  Valley  Tan  I  don't  enter  no  protests  to  what 
he  states.  From  what  ensoos,  however,  I  should 
jedge  the  padre  overlooks  his  game  in  one  par- 
tic'lar. 

As  me  an'  the  padre  sits  gazin'  on  at  the  dance, 
a  senorita  with  a  dark  shawl  over  her  head,  drifts 
into  the  door  like  a  shadow.  She's  little;  an'  by 
what  I  sees  of  her  face,  she's  pretty.  As  she 
crosses  in  front  of  the  padre  she  stops  an'  sort  o' 
drops  down  on  one  knee  with  her  head  bowed. 
The  padre  blesses  her  an'  calls  her  "Chiquita;" 
then  she  goes  on.  I  don't  pay  no  onusual  atten 
tion;  though  as  me  an'  the  padre  talks,  I  notes 
her  where  she  stands  with  her  shawl  still  over 
her  head  in  a  corner  of  the  dance  hall. 

Across  from  the  little  Chiquita  is  a  young 
Greaser  an'  his  sweetheart.  This  girl  is  pretty, 
too;  but  her  shawl  ain't  over  her  head  an'  she 
an'  her  muchacho,  from  their  smiles  an'  love 
glances,  is  havin'  the  happiest  of  nights. 

"  It  looks  like  you'll  have  a  weddin'  on  your 
hands,"  I  says  to  the  padre,  indicatin'  where  the 
two  is  courtin'. 

"  Chiquita  should  not  stay  here,"  says  the 
padre  talkin'  to  himse'f.  With  that  he  organizes 
like  he's  goin'  over  to  the  little  shawled  senorita 
in  the  corner. 

It  strikes  me  that  the  padre's  remark  is  a  heap 
irrelevant.  But  I  soon  sees  that  he  onderstands 
the  topics  he  tackles  a  mighty  sight  better  than 

126 


CHIQUITA  OF  CHAPARITA. 

me.  The  padre's  hardly  moved  when  it  looks 
like  the  senorita  Chiquita  saveys  he's  out  to  head 
her  off.  With  that  she  crosses  the  dance-hall 
swift  as  a  cat  an'  flashes  a  knife  into  the  heart  of 
the  laughing  girl.  The  next  moment  the  knife 
is  planted  in  her  own. 

It's  the  old  story,  so  old  an'  common  thar's  not 
a  new  word  to  be  said.  Two  dead  girls ;  love  the 
reason  an'  the  jealous  knife  the  trail.  Thar's  not 
a  scream,  not  a  word;  that  entire  baile  stands 
transfixed.  As  the  padre  raises  the  little  Chi- 
quita's  head,  I  sees  the  tears  swimmin'  in  his  eyes. 
It's  the  one  time  I  comes  nearest  thinkin'  well  of 
a  Mexican;  that  padre,  at  least,  is  toler'ble. 


"  That  is  a  very  sad  finale — the  death  of  the 
girls,"  observed  the  Sour  Gentleman,  reaching 
for  the  Scotch  whiskey  as  though  for  comfort's 
sake.  "  And  still,  the  glimpse  you  gave  would 
move  me  to  a  pleasant  estimate  of  Mexicans." 

"  Why  then,"  returned  the  Old  Cattleman,  be 
coming  also  an  applicant  for  Scotch,  "  considered 
as  abstract  prop'sitions,  Mexicans  aint  so  bad. 
Which  they're  like  Injuns ;  they  improves  a  lot  by 
distance.  An'  they  has  their  strong  p'ints,  too; 
gratitoode  is  one.  You-all  confer  a  favor  on  a 
Mexican,  an'  he'll  hang  on  your  trail  a  hundred 


127 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

years  but  what  he'll  do  you  a  favor  in  return. 
An'  he'll  jest  about  pay  ten  for  one  at  that. 

"  Speakin'  of  gratitoode,  Sioux  Sam  yere  tells 
a  story  to  'llustrate  how  good  deeds  is  bound  to 
meet  their  reward.  It's  what  the  squaws  tells 
the  papooses  to  make  'em  kind."  Then  to  Sioux 
Sam :  "  Give  us  the  tale  of  Strongarm  an'  the 
Big  Medicine  Elk.  The  talk  is  up  to  you." 

Sioux  Sam  was  in  no  sort  diffident,  and  readily 
told  us  the  following: 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK. 

Moh-Kwa  was  the  wisest  of  all  the  beasts  along 
the  Upper  Yellowstone ;  an'  yet  Moh-Kwa  could 
not  catch  a  fish.  This  made  Moh-Kwa  have  a  bad 
heart,  for  next  to  honey  he  liked  fish.  What 
made  it  worse  was  that  in  Moh-Kwa's  cavern 
where  he  lived,  there  lay  a  deep  pool  which  was 
the  camp  of  many  fish ;  an'  Moh-Kwa  would  sit 
an'  look  at  them  an'  long-  for  them,  while  the  fish 
came  close  to  the  edge  an'  laughed  at  Moh-Kwa, 
for  they  knew  beneath  their  scales  that  he  could 
not  catch  them ;  an'  the  laughter  of  the  fish  made 
a  noise  like  swift  water  running  among  rocks. 
Sometimes  Moh-Kwa  struck  at  a  fish  with  his 
big  paw,  but  the  fish  never  failed  to  dive  out  of 
reach;  an'  this  made  the  other  fish  laugh  at  Moh- 
Kwa  more  than  before.  Once  Moh-Kwa  got  so 
angry  he  plunged  into  the  pool  to  hunt  the  fish ; 
but  it  only  made  him  seem  foolish,  for  the  fish 
swam  about  him  in  flashing  circles,  an'  dived 
under  him  an'  jumped  over  him,  laughing  all  the 
time,  making  a  play  an'  a  sport  of  Moh-Kwa. 
At  last  he  gave  up  an'  swam  ashore;  an'  then  he 
9  129 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

had  to  sit  by  his  fire  an'  comb  his  fur  all  day  to 
dry  himself  so  that  he  might  feel  like  the  same 
bear  again. 

One  morning  down  by  the  Yellowstone,  Moh- 
Kwa  met  Strongarm,  the  young  Sioux,  an' 
Strongarm  had  a  buffalo  fish  which  he  had 
speared  in  the  river.  An'  because  Moh-Kwa 
looked  at  the  fish  hungrily  an'  with  water  in  his 
mouth,  Strongarm  gave  him  the  buffalo  fish. 
Also  he  asked  Moh-Kwa  why  he  did  not  catch  fish 
since  he  liked  them  so  well  an'  the  pool  in  his 
cavern  was  the  camp  of  many  fish.  An'  Moh- 
Kwa  said  it  was  because  the  fish  were  cowards  an' 
would  not  stay  an'  fight  with  him,  but  ran  away. 

"  They  are  not  so  brave  as  the  bees,"  said 
Moh-Kwa,  "  for  \vhen  I  find  a  bee-tree,  they 
make  me  fight  for  the  honey.  The  bees  have  big 
hearts  though  little  knives,  but  the  fish  have  no 
hearts  an'  run  like  water  down  hill  if  they  but  see 
Moh-Kwa's  shadow  from  his  fire  fall  across  the 
pool." 

Strongarm  said  he  would  catch  the  fish  for 
Moh-Kwa;  an'  with  that  he  went  to  the  Wise 
Bear's  house  an'  with  his  spear  took  many  fish, 
being  plenty  to  feed  Moh-Kwa  two  days.  Moh- 
Kwa  was  very  thankful,  an'  because  Strong- 
arm  liked  the  Wise  Bear,  he  came  four  times 
each  moon  an'  speared  fish  for  Moh-Kwa  who 
was  never  so  well  fed  with  fish  before. 

Strongarm  was  a  mighty  hunter  among  the 
130 


HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK. 

Sioux  an'  killed  more  elk  than  did  the  ten  best 
hunters  of  his  village.  So  many  elk  did  Strong- 
arm  slay  that  his  squaw,  the  Blossom,  made  for 
their  little  son,  Feather-foot,  a  buckskin  coat  on 
which  was  sewed  the  eye-teeth  of  elk,  two  for 
each  elk,  until  there  were  so  many  eye-teeth  on 
Feather-foot's  buckskin  coat  it  was  like  counting 
the  leaves  on  a  cottonwood  to  find  how  many 
there  were.  An'  the  Blossom  was  proud  of 
Feather-foot's  coat,  for  none  among  the  Sioux 
had  so  beautiful  a  garment  an'  the  eye-teeth  of 
the  elk  told  how  big  a  hunter  was  Strongarm. 

While  the  Sioux  wondered  an'  admired  at  the 
elk-tooth  coat,  it  made  the  Big  Medicine  Elk, 
who  was  chief  of  the  Elk  people,  hot  an'  angry, 
an'  turned  his  heart  black  against  Strongarm. 
The  Big  Medicine  Elk  said  he  would  have  re 
venge. 

Thus  it  happened  one  day  that  when  Strong- 
arm  stepped  from  his  lodge,  he  saw  standing  in 
front  a  great  Elk  who  had  antlers  like  the 
branches  of  a  tree.  An'  the  great  Elk  stamped 
his  foot  an'  snorted  at  Strongarm.  Then 
Strongarm  took  his  bow  an'  his  lance  an'  his  knife 
an'  hunted  the  great  Elk  to  kill  him ;  but  the  great 
Elk  ran  always  a  little  ahead  just  out  of  reach. 

At  last  the  great  Elk  ran  into  the  Pouch  canyon 
an'  then  Strongarm  took  hope  into  his  heart  like 
a  man  takes  air  into  his  mouth,  for  the  sides  of 
the  Pouch  canyon  were  high  an'  steep  an'  it  ended 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

with  a  high  wall,  an'  nothing  save  a  bird  might 
get  out  again  once  it  went  in;  for  the  Pouch  can 
yon  was  a  trap  which  the  Great  Spirit  had  set 
when  the  world  was  new. 

Strongarm  was  happy  in  his  breast  as  he  fol 
lowed  the  great  Elk  into  the  Pouch  canyon  for 
now  he  was  sure.  An'  he  thought  how  the  big 
eye-teeth  of  so  great  an  Elk  would  look  on  the 
collar  of  Feather-foot's  buckskin  coat. 

When  Strongarm  came  to  the  upper  end  of  the 
Pouch  canyon,  there  the  great  Elk  stood  waiting. 

"  Hold !  "  said  the  great  Elk,  when  Strongarm 
put  an  arrow  on  his  bowstring. 

But  Strongarm  shot  the  arrow  which  bounded 
off  the  great  Elk's  hide  an'  made  no  wound. 
Then  Strongarm  ran  against  the  great  Elk  with 
his  lance,  but  the  lance  was  broken  as  though 
the  great  Elk  was  a  rock.  Then  Strongarm  drew 
his  knife,  but  when  he  went  close  to  the  great 
Elk,  the  beast  threw  him  down  with  his  antlers 
an'  put  his  forefoot  on  Strongarm  an'  held  him 
on  the  ground. 

"  Listen,"  said  the  great  Elk,  an'  Strongarm 
listened  because  he  couldn't  help  it.  "  You  have 
hunted  my  people  far  an'  near ;  an'  you  can  never 
get  enough  of  their  blood  or  their  eye-teeth.  I 
am  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  an'  chief  of  the  Elk 
people ;  an'  now  for  a  vengeance  against  you,  I 
shall  change  you  from  the  hunter  to  the  hunted, 


132 


THE  ELK  FEAR  WAS  IN  His 


HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK 

an'  you  shall  know  how  good  it  is  to  have  fear  an' 
be  an  elk." 

As  the  great  Elk  said  this,  Strongarm  felt  his 
head  turn  heavy  with  antlers,  while  his  nose  grew 
long  an'  his  mouth  wide,  an'  hair  grew  out  of  his 
skin  like  grass  in  the  moon  of  new  grass,  an'  his 
hands  an'  feet  split  into  hoofs;  an'  then  Strong- 
arm  stood  on  his  four  new  hoofs  an'  saw  by  his 
picture  in  the  stream  that  he  was  an  elk.  Also 
the  elk-fear  curled  up  in  his  heart  to  keep  him 
ever  in  alarm;  an'  he  snuffed  the  air  an'  walked 
about  timidly  where  before  he  was  Strongarm 
and  feared  nothing. 

Strongarm  crept  home  to  his  lodge,  but  the 
Blossom  did  not  know  her  husband;  an'  Feather- 
foot,  his  little  son,  shot  arrows  at  him;  an'  as  he 
ran  from  them,  the  hunters  of  his  village  came 
forth  an'  chased  him  until  Strongarm  ran  into 
the  darkness  of  the  next  night  as  it  came  trailing 
up  from  the  East,  an'  the  darkness  was  kind  an' 
covered  him  like  a  blanket  an'  Strongarm  was  hid 
by  it  an'  saved. 

When  Strongarm  did  not  come  with  the  next 
sun  to  spear  fish  for  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear 
went  to  Strongarm's  lodge  to  seek  him  for  he 
thought  that  he  was  sick.  An'  Moh-Kwa  asked 
the  Blossom  where  was  Strongarm?  An'  the 
Blossom  said  she  did  not  know;  that  Strongarm 
chased  the  great  Elk  into  the  Pouch  canyon  an' 
never  came  out  again;  an'  now  a  big  Doubt  had 

133 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

spread  its  blankets  in  her  heart  an'  would  not 
leave,  but  was  making  a  long  camp,  saying  she 
was  a  widow.  Then  the  Blossom  wept;  but  Moh- 
Kwa  told  her  to  wait  an'  he  would  see,  because 
he,  Moh-Kwa,  owed  Strongarm  for  many  fish  an' 
would  now  pay  him. 

Moh-Kwa  went  to  the  Big  Medicine  Elk. 

"  Where  is  the  Strongarm?  "  said  Moh-Kwa. 

"  He  runs  in  the  hills  an'  is  an  elk,"  said  the 
Big  Medicine  Elk.  "  He  killed  my  people  for 
their  teeth,  an'  a  great  fright  was  on  all  my  people 
because  of  the  Strongarm.  The  mothers  dare 
not  go  down  to  the  river's  edge  to  drink,  an'  their 
children  had  no  time  to  grow  fat  for  they  were 
ever  looking  to  meet  the  Strongarm.  Now  he  is 
an  elk  an'  my  people  will  have  peace ;  the  mothers 
will  drink  an'  their  babies  be  fat  an'  big,  being  no 
more  chased  by  the  Strongarm." 

Then  Moh-Kwa  thought  an'  thought,  an'  at 
last  he  said  to  the  Big  Medicine  Elk : 

"  That  is  all  proud  talk.  But  I  must  have  the 
Strongarm  back,  for  he  catches  my  fish." 

But  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  said  he  would  not 
give  Moh-Kwa  back  the  Strongarm. 

"  Why  should  I?  "  asked  the  Big  Medicine  Elk. 

"  Did  not  I  save  you  in  the  Yellowstone,"  said 
Moh-Kwa,  "  when  as  you  swam  the  river  a  drift 
ing  tree  caught  in  your  antlers  an'  held  down 
your  head  to  drown  you?  An'  did  you  not  bawl 
to  me  who  searched  for  berries  on  the  bank;  an' 

134 


HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK. 

did  I  not  swim  to  you  an'  save  you  from  the 
tree?"  Still  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  shook  his 
antlers. 

"  What  you  say  is  of  another  day.  You  saved 
me  an'  that  is  ended.  I  will  not  give  you  back 
the  Strongarm  for  that.  One  does  not  drink  the 
water  that  is  gone  by." 

Moh-Kwa  then  grew  so  angry  his  eyes  burned 
red  like  fire,  an'  he  threatened  to  kill  the  Big- 
Medicine  Elk.  But  the  Big  Medicine  Elk 
laughed  like  the  fish  laughed,  for  he  said  he  could 
not  be  killed  by  any  who  lived  on  the  land. 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  the  water,"  said  Moh- 
Kwa  ;  an'  with  that  he  took  the  Big  Medicine  Elk 
in  his  great  hairy  arms  an'  carried  him  kicking 
an'  struggling  to  the  Yellowstone ;  for  Moh-Kwa 
could  hold  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  though  he  could 
not  hurt  him. 

When  Moh-Kwa  had  carried  the  Big  Medicine 
Elk  to  the  river,  he  sat  down  on  the  bank  an' 
waited  with  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  in  his  arms 
until  a  tree  came  floating  down.  Then  Moh-Kwa 
swam  with  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  to  the  tree  an' 
tangled  the  branches  in  the  antlers  of  the  Big 
Medicine  Elk  so  that  he  was  fast  with  his  nose 
under  the  water  an'  was  sure  to  drown. 

"  Now  you  are  as  you  were  when  I  helped  you," 
said  Moh-Kwa. 

An'  the  Catfish  people  in  the  river  came  with 
joy  an'  bit  the  legs  of  the  Big  Medicine  Elk,  an* 

135 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN 

said,  "  Thank  you,  Moh-Kwa ;  you  do  well  to 
bring  us  food  now  an'  then  since  you  eat  so  many 
fish." 

As  Moh-Kwa  turned  to  swim  again  to  the 
bank,  he  said  over  his  shoulder  to  the  Big  Medi 
cine  Elk : 

"  Now  you  may  sing  your  death  song,  for 
Pauguk,  the  Death,  is  in  the  river  with  you  an' 
those  are  Pauguk's  catfish  which  gnaw  your 
legs." 

At  this  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  said  between  his 
cries  of  grief  an'  fear  that  if  Moh-Kwa  would  save 
him  out  of  the  river,  he  would  tell  him  how  to 
have  the  Strongarm  back.  So  Moh-Kwa  went 
again  an'  freed  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  from  the 
tree  an'  carried  him  to  the  bank,  while  the  Cat 
fish  people  followed,  angrily  crying: 

"  Is  this  fair,  Moh-Kwa?  Do  you  give  an' 
then  do  you  take  away?  Moh-Kwa!  you  are  a 
Pawnee !  " 

When  the  Big  Medicine  Elk  had  got  his  breath 
an'  wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  he  told  Moh- 
Kwa  that  the  only  way  to  bring  the  Strongarm 
back  to  be  a  hunter  from  being  one  of  the  hunted 
was  for  Feather-foot,  his  son,  to  cut  his  throat; 
an'  for  the  Blossom,  his  squaw,  to  burn  his  elk- 
body  with  cedar  boughs. 

"An'  why  his  son,  the  Feather-foot?"  asked 
Moh-Kwa. 

"  Because  the  Feather-foot  owes  the  Strong- 


HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK. 

arm  a  life,"  replied  the  Big  Medicine  Elk.  "  Is 
not  Strongarm  the  Feather-foot's  father  an'  does 
not  the  son  owe  the  father  his  life  ?  " 

Moh-Kwa  saw  this  was  true  talk,  so  he  let  the 
Big  Medicine  Elk  go  free. 

"  I  will  even  promise  that  the  Strongarm,"  said 
Moh-Kwa,  as  the  two  parted,  "  when  again  he  is 
a  Sioux  on  two  legs,  shall  never  hunt  the  Elk 
people." 

But  the  Big  Medicine  Elk,  who  was  licking  his 
fetlocks  where  the  Catfish  people  had  hurt  the 
skin,  shook  his  antlers  an'  replied : 

"  It  is  not  needed.  The  Strongarm  has  been 
one  of  the  Elk  people  an'  will  feel  he  is  their 
brother  an'  will  not  hurt  them." 

Moh-Kwa  found  it  a  hard  task  to  capture 
Strongarm  when  now  he  was  an  elk  with  the  elk- 
fear  in  his  heart.  For  Strongarm  had  already 
learned  the  elk's  warning  which  is  taught  by  all 
the  Elk  people,  an'  which  says : 

Look  up  for  danger  and  look  down  for  gain ; 
Believe  no  wolf's  word,  and  avoid  the  plain. 

Strongarm  would  look  down  for  the  grass  with 
one  eye,  while  he  kept  an  eye  up  among  the 
branches  or  along  the  sides  of  the  canyon  for  fear 
of  mountain  lions.  An'  he  stuck  close  in  among 
the  hills,  an'  would  not  go  out  on  the  plains  where 
the  wolves  lived ;  an'  he  wouldn't  talk  with  a  wolf 
or  listen  to  his  words. 

137 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

But  Strongarm,  while  he  ran  an'  hid  from  Moh- 
Kwa  an'  the  others,  was  not  afraid  of  the  Blos 
som,  who  was  his  squaw,  but  would  come  to  her 
gladly  if  he  might  find  her  alone  among  the  trees. 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time,"  said  the  Wise  Bear, 
"  that  the  hunter  has  made  his  trap  of  love." 

With  that  he  told  the  Blossom  to  go  into  the 
hills  an'  call  Strongarm  to  her  with  her  love.  Then 
she  was  to  bind  his  feet  so  that  he  might  not  get 
away  an'  run. 

The  Blossom  called  Strongarm  an'  he  came; 
but  he  was  fearful  an'  suspicious  an'  his  nose  an' 
his  ears  an'  his  eyes  kept  guard  until  the  Blossom 
put  her  hand  on  his  neck;  an'  then  Strongarm's 
great  love  for  the  Blossom  smothered  out  his  cau 
tion  as  one  might  smother  a  fire  with  a  robe;  an' 
the  Blossom  tied  all  his  feet  with  thongs  an'  bound 
his  eyes  with  her  blanket  so  that  Strongarm  might 
not  see  an'  be  afraid. 

Then  came  Feather-foot,  gladly,  an'  cut  Strong- 
arm's  throat  with  his  knife ;  for  Feather-foot  did 
not  know  he  killed  his  father — for  that  was  a 
secret  thing  with  Moh-Kwa  an'  the  Blossom — an' 
thought  only  how  he  killed  a  great  Elk. 

When  Strongarm  was  dead,  Moh-Kwa  toiled 
throughout  the  day  carrying  up  the  big  cedar; 
an'  when  a  pile  like  a  hill  was  made,  Moh-Kwa  put 
Strongarm's  elk-body  on  its  top,  an'  brought  fire 
from  his  house  in  the  rocks,  an'  made  a  great 
burning. 

138 


HOW  STRONGARM  WAS  AN  ELK. 

In  the  morning,  the  Blossom  who  had  stayed 
with  Moh-Kwa  through  the  night  while  the  fire 
burned,  said,  "  Now,  although  the  big  elk  is  gone 
into  ashes,  I  do  not  yet  see  the  Strongarm."  But 
Moh-Kwa  said,  "  You  will  find  him  asleep  in  the 
lodge."  An'  that  was  a  true  word,  for  when  Moh- 
Kwa  an'  the  Blossom  went  to  the  lodge,  there 
they  found  Strongarm  whole  an'  good  an'  as  sound 
asleep  as  a  tree  at  midnight. 

Outside  the  lodge  they  met  the  little  Feather- 
foot  who  cried,  "  Where  is  the  big  elk,  Moh-Kwa, 
that  I  killed?  "  An'  the  Blossom  showed  him  his 
father,  Strongarm,  where  he  slept,  an'  said, 
"  There  is  your  big  elk,  Feather-foot ;  an'  this  will 
ever  be  your  best  hunting  for  it  found  you  your 
father  again." 

When  Moh-Kwa  saw  that  everything  was  set 
tled  an'  well,  an'  that  he  would  now  have  always 
his  regular  fish,  he  wiped  the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes 
with  his  paws  which  were  all  singed  fur  an'  ashes, 
an'  said,  "  I  am  the  weariest  bear  along  the  whole 
length  of  the  Yellowstone,  for  I  carried  some 
heavy  trees  an'  have  worked  hard.  Now  I  will 
sleep  an'  rest." 

An'  with  that  Moh-Kwa  lay  down  an'  snored 
an'  slept  four  days ;  then  he  arose  an'  eat  up  the 
countless  fish  which  Strongarm  had  speared  to 
be  ready  for  him.  This  done,  Moh-Kwa  lighted 
his  pipe  of  kinnikinick,  an'  softly  rubbing  his 
stomach  where  the  fish  were,  said :  "  Fish  give 
Moh-Kwa  a  good  heart." 

139 


THE  BLACK  LlON  INN. 

"  Now  that  is  what  I  call  a  pretty  story,"  said 
the  Jolly  Doctor. 

"  It  is  that,"  observed  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man,  with  emphasis.  "  And  I've  no  doubt  the 
Strongarm  made  it  a  point  thereafter  to  be  care 
ful  as  to  what  game  he  hunted.  But,  leaving 
fable  for  fact,  my  friend," — the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man  addressed  now  the  Sour  Gentleman — "  would 
you  not  call  it  your  turn  to  uplift  the  spirits  of 
this  company?  We  have  just  enough  time  and  I 
just  enough  burgundy  for  one  more  story  before 
we  go  to  bed." 

"  While  our  friend,  the  Sioux  Gentleman,"  re 
sponded  the  Sour  Gentleman,  "  was  unfolding  his 
interesting  fable,  my  thoughts — albeit  I  listened 
to  him  and  lost  never  a  word — were  to  the  rear 
with  the  old  days  which  came  on  the  back  of  that 
catastrophe  of  tobacco.  They  come  to  me  most 
clearly  as  I  sit  here  smoking  and  listening,  and 
with  your  permission  I'll  relate  the  story  of  The 
Smuggled  Silk. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THAT    SMUGGLED   SILK. 

Should  your  curiosity  invite  it,  and  the  more 
since  I  promised  you  the  story,  we  will  now,  my 
friends,  go  about  the  telling  of  that  one  operation 
in  underground  silk.  It  is  not  calculated  to  foster 
the  pride  of  an  old  man  to  plunge  into  a  relation 
of  dubious  doings  of  his  youth.  And  yet,  as  I 
look  backward  on  that  one  bit  of  smuggling  of 
which  I  was  guilty,  so  far  as  motive  was  involved, 
I  exonerate  myself.  I  looked  on  the  government, 
because  of  the  South's  conquest  by  the  North,  and 
that  later  ruin  of  myself  through  the  machinations 
of  the  Revenue  office,  as  both  a  political  and  a 
personal  foe.  And  I  felt,  not  alone  morally  free, 
but  was  impelled  besides  in  what  I  deemed  a  spirit 
of  justice  to  myself,  to  wage  war  against  it  as  best 
I  might.  It  was  on  such  argument,  where  the 
chance  proffered,  that  I  sought  wealth  as  a  smug 
gler.  I  would  deplete  the  government — forage, 
as  it  were,  on  the  enemy — thereby  to  fatten  my 
purse. 

As  my  hair  has  whitened  with  the  sifting  frosts 
of  years,  I  confess  that  my  sophistries  of  smug- 

141 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

gling  seem  less  and  less  plausible,  while  smug 
gling  itself  loses  whatever  of  romantic  glamour  it 
may  once  have  been  invested  with,  or  what  little 
color  of  respect  to  which  it  might  seem  able  to 
lay  claim.  This  tale  shall  be  told  in  simplest 
periods.  That  is  as  should  be;  for  expression 
should  ever  be  meek  and  subjugated  when  one's 
story  is  the  mere  story  of  a  cheat.  There  is  scant 
room  in  such  recital  for  heroic  phrase.  Smug 
gling,  and  paint  it  with  what  genius  one  may, 
can  be  nothing  save  a  skulking,  hiding,  fear-eaten 
trade.  There  is  nothing  about  it  of  bravery  or 
dash.  How  therefore  and  avoid  laughter,  may 
one  wax  stately  in  any  telling  of  its  ignoble  de 
tails  ? 

When,  following  my  unfortunate  crash  in  to 
bacco,  I  had  cleared  away  the  last  fragment  of  the 
confusion  that  reigned  in  my  affairs,  I  was  driven 
to  give  my  nerves  a  respite  and  seek  a  rest.  For 
three  months  I  had  been  under  severest  stress. 
When  the  funeral  was  done — for  funeral  it  seemed 
to  me — and  my  tobacco  enterprise  and  those 
hopes  it  had  so  flattered  were  forever  laid  at  rest, 
my  soul  sank  exhausted  and  my  brain  was  in  a 
whirl.  I  could  neither  think  with  clearness  nor 
plan  with  accuracy.  Moreover,  I  was  prey  to 
that  depression  and  lack  of  confidence  in  myself, 
which  come  inevitably  as  the  corollary  of  utter 
weariness. 

Aware  of  this  personal  condition,  I  put  aside 
142 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

thought  of  any  present  formulation  of  a  future. 
I  would  rest,  recover  poise,  and  win  back  that 
optimism  that  belongs  with  health  and  youth. 

This  was  wisdom;  I  was  jaded  beyond  belief; 
and  fatigue  means  dejection,  and  dejection  spells 
pessimism,  and  pessimism  is  never  sagacious  nor 
excellent  in  any  of  its  programmes. 

For  that  rawness  of  the  nerves  I  speak  of,  many 
apply  themselves  to  drink;  some  rush  to  drugs; 
for  myself,  I  take  to  music.  It  was  midwinter, 
and  grand  opera  was  here.  This  was  fortunate. 
I  buried  myself  in  a  box,  and  opened  my  very 
pores  to  those  nerve-healthful  harmonies. 

In  a  week  thereafter  I  might  call  myself  recover 
ed.  My  soul  was  cool,  my  eye  bright,  my  mind 
clear  and  sensibly  elate.  Life  and  its  promises 
seemed  mightily  refreshed. 

No  one  has  ever  called  me  superstitious  and  yet 
to  begin  my  course-charting  for  a  new  career,  I 
harked  back  to  the  old  Astor  House.  It  was  there 
that  brilliant  thought  of  tobacco  overtook  me  two 
years  before.  Perhaps  an  inspiration  was  to 
dwell  in  an  environment.  Again  I  registered,  and 
finding  it  tenantless,  took  over  again  my  old  room. 
Still  I  cannot  say,  and  it  is  to  that  hostelry's  credit, 
that  my  domicile  at  the  Astor  aided  me  to  my 
smuggling  resolves.  Those  last  had  growth  some 
what  in  this  fashion : 

I  had  dawdled  for  two  hours  over  coffee  in  the 
cafe — the  room  and  the  employment  which  had 

143 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

one-time  brought  me  fortune — but  was  incapable 
of  any  thought  of  value.  I  could  decide  on 
nothing  good.  Indeed,  I  did  naught  save  mental 
ly  curse  those  revenue  miscreants  who,  failing  of 
blackmail,  had  destroyed  me  for  revenge. 

Whatever  comfort  may  lurk  in  curses,  at  least 
they  carry  no  money  profit ;  so  after  a  fruitless 
session  over  coffe  and  maledictions,  I  arose,  and 
as  a  calmative,  walked  down  Broadway. 

At  Trinity  churchyard,  the  gates  being  open, 
I  turned  in  and  began  ramblingly  to  twine  and 
twist  among  the  graves.  There  I  encountered  a 
garrulous  old  man  who,  for  his  own  pleasure,  evi 
dently,  devoted  himself  to  my  information.  He 
pointed  out  the  grave  of  Fulton,  he  of  the  steam 
boats  ;  then  I  was  shown  the  tomb  of  that  Law 
rence  who  would  "  never  give  up  the  ship ;"  from 
there  I  was  carried  to  the  last  low  bed  of  the  love- 
wrecked  Charlotte  Temple. 

My  eye  at  last,  by  the  alluring  voice  and  finger 
of  the  old  guide,  was  drawn  to  a  spot  under  the 
tower  where  sleeps  the  Lady  Cornbury,  dead  now 
as  I  tell  this,  hardby  two  hundred  years.  Also  I 
was  told  of  that  Lord  Cornbury,  her  husband, 
once  governor  of  the  colony  for  his  relative,  Queen 
Anne ;  and  how  he  became  so  much  more  efficient 
as  a  smuggler  and  a  customs  cheat,  than  ever 
he  was  as  an  executive,  that  he  lost  his  high 
employ. 

Because  I  had  nothing  more  worthy  to  occupy 
144 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

my  leisure,  I  listened — somewhat  listlessly,  I 
promise  you,  for  after  all  I  was  thinking  on  the 
future,  not  the  past,  and  considering  of  the  living 
rather  than  those  old  dead  folk,  obscure,  forgot 
ten  in  their  slim  graves — I  listened,  I  say,  to  my 
gray  historian;  and  somehow,  after  I  was  free  of 
him,  the  one  thing  that  remained  alive  in  my 
memory  was  the  smuggling  story  of  our  Viscount 
Cornbury. 

Among  those  few  acquaintances  I  formed  dur 
ing  my  brief  prosperity,  was  one  with  a  gentleman 
named  Harris,  who  owned  apartments  under  mine 
on  Twenty-second  Street.  Harris  was  elegant, 
educated,  traveled,  and  apparently  well-to-do  of 
riches.  Busy  with  my  own  mounting  fortunes, 
the  questions  of  who  Harris  was  ?  and  what  he  did  ? 
and  how  he  lived?  never  rapped  at  the  door  of 
my  curiosity  for  reply. 

One  night,  however,  as  we  sat  over  a  late  and 
by  no  means  a  first  bottle  of  wine,  Harris  himself 
informed  me  that  he  was  employed  in  smuggling ; 
had  a  partner-accomplice  in  the  Customs  House, 
and  perfect  arrangements  aboard  a  certain  ship. 
By  these  last  double  advantages,  he  came  aboard 
with  twenty  trunks,  if  he  so  pleased,  without  risk 
ing  anything  from  the  inquisitiveness  or  loquacity 
of  the  officers  of  the  ship;  and  later  debarked  at 
New  York  with  the  certainty  of  going  scatheless 
through  the  customs  as  rapidly  as  his  Inspector 

10  145 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

partner  could  chalk  scrawlingly  "  O.  K."  upon 
his  sundry  pieces  of  baggage. 

Coming  from  Old  Trinity,  still  mooting  Corn- 
bury  and  his  smugglings,  my  thoughts  turned  to 
Harris.  Also,  for  the  earliest  time,  I  began  to 
consider  within  myself  whether  smuggling  was  not 
a  field  of  business  wherein  a  pushing  man  might 
grow  and  reap  a  harvest.  The  idea  came  to  me 
to  turn  "  free-trader."  The  government  had 
destroyed  me;  I  would  make  reprisal.  I  would 
give  my  hand  to  smuggling  and  spoil  the  Egyp 
tian. 

At  once  I  sought  Harris  and  over  a  glass  of 
champagne — ever  a  favorite  wine  with  me — we 
struck  agreement.  As  a  finale  we  each  put  in 
fifteen  thousand  dollars,  and  with  the  whole  sum 
of  thirty  thousand  dollars  Harris  pushed  forth  for 
Europe  while  I  remained  behind.  Harris  visited 
Lyons;  and  our  complete  investment  was  in  a 
choicest  sort  of  Lyons  silk.  The  rich  fabrics  were 
packed  in  a  dozen  trunks — not  all  alike,  those 
trunks,  but  differing,  one  from  another,  so  as  to 
prevent  the  notion  as  they  stood  about  the  wharf 
that  there  was  aught  of  relationship  between  them 
or  that  one  man  stood  owner  of  them  all. 

It  is  not  needed  to  tell  of  my  partner's  voyage 
of  return.  It  was  without  event  and  one  may 
safely  abandon  it,  leaving  its  relation  to  Harris 
himself,  if  he  be  yet  alive  and  should  the  spirit 
him  so  move.  It  is  enough  for  the  present  pur- 

146 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

pose  that  in  due  time  the  trunks  holding  our 
precious  silk-bolts,  with  Harris  as  their  convoy, 
arrived  safe  in  New  York. 

I  had  been  looking  for  the  boat's  coming  and 
was  waiting  on  the  wharf  as  her  lines  and  her 
stagings  were  run  ashore. 

Our  partner,  the  Inspector,  and  who  was  to 
enjoy  a  per  cent,  of  the  profits  of  the  speculation, 
was  named  Lorns.  He  rapidly  chalked  "  O.  K." 
with  his  name  affixed  to  the  end  of  each  several 
trunk  and  it  thereupon  with  the  balance  of  in 
spected  baggage  was  promptly  piled  upon  the 
wharf. 

There  had  been  a  demand  for  drays,  I  remem 
ber,  and  on  this  day  when  our  silks  came  in,  I 
was  able  to  procure  but  one.  The  ship  did  not 
dock  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  eight 
o'clock  of  a  dark,  foggy  April  evening,  there  still 
remained  one  of  our  trunks — the  largest  of  all, 
it  was — on  the  wharf.  The  dray  had  departed 
with  the  second  load  for  that  concealing  loft  in 
Reade  Street  which,  during  Harris'  absence,  I  had 
taken  to  be  used  as  the  depot  of  those  smuggling 
operations  wherein  we  might  become  engaged. 
I  had  made  every  move  with  caution ;  I  had  never 
employed  our  real  names  not  even  with  the  dray 
man. 

As  I  tell  you,  the  dray  was  engaged  about  the 
second  trip.  This  last  large  silk-trunk  was  left 
behind  perforce ;  pile  it  how  one  might  there  had 

147 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

been  no  safe  room  for  it  on  the  already  overloaded 
dray.  The  drayman  promised  to  return  and  have 
it  safely  in  our  loft  that  night. 

For  myself,  I  was  from  first  to  last  lounging 
about  the  wharf,  overseeing  the  going  away  of 
our  goods.  Harris,  so  soon  as  I  gave  him  key 
and  street-number,  had  posted  to  Reade  Street  to 
attend  the  silk's  reception. 

Waiting  for  the  coming  back  of  the  conveying 
dray  proved  but  a  slow,  dull  business,  and  I  was 
impatiently,  at  the  hour  I've  named,  walking  up 
and  down,  casting  an  occasional  glance  at  the  big 
last  trunk  where  it  stood  on  end,  a  bit  drawn  out 
and  separated  from  the  common  mountain  of  bag 
gage  wherewith  the  wharf  was  piled. 

One  of  the  general  inspectors,  a  man  I  had 
never  seen  but  whom  I  knew,  by  virtue  of  his 
rank,  to  be  superior  to  our  chalk-wielding  copar 
cener,  also  paced  the  wharf  and  appeared  to  bear 
me  company  in  a  distant,  non-communicative  way. 
This  customs  captain  and  myself,  save  for  an 
under  inspector  named  Quin,  had  the  dock  to  our 
selves.  The  boat  was  long  in  and  most  land  folk 
had  gotten  through  their  concern  with  her  and 
wended  homeward  long  before.  There  were,  how 
ever,  many  passengers  of  emigrant  sort  still  held 
aboard  the  ship. 

As  I  marched  up  and  down,  Lorns  came  ashore 
and  pretended  some  business  with  his  superior 
officer.  As  he  returned  to  the  ship  and  what 

148 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

duties  he  had  still  to  perform  there,  he  made  a 
slight  signal  to  both  myself  and  his  fellow  inspec 
tor,  Quin,  to  follow  him.  I  was  well  known  to 
Lorns,  having  had  several  talks  with  him,  while 
Harris  was  abroad.  Quin  I  had  never  met;  but 
it  quickly  appeared  that  he  was  a  confidant  of 
Lorns,  and  while  without  money  interest  in  our 
affairs  was  ready  to  bear  helping  hand  should 
the  situation  commence  to  pinch. 

Quin  and  I  went  severally  and  withal  carelessly 
aboard  ship,  and  not  at  all  as  though  we  were 
seeking  Lorns.  This  was  to  darken  the  chief, 
whom  we  both  surmised  to  be  the  cause  of  Lorn's 
signal. 

Once  aboard  and  gathered  in  a  dark  corner, 
Lorns  began  at  once: 

"  Let  me  do  the  talking,"  said  Lorns  with  a 
nervous  rapidity  that  at  once  enlisted  the  ears  of 
Quin  and  myself.  "  Don't  interrupt,  but  listen. 
The  chief  suspects  that  last  trunk.  I  can  tell  it 
by  the  way  he  acts.  A  bit  later,  when  I  come 
ashore,  he'll  ask  to  have  it  opened.  Should  he  do 
so,  we're  lost ;  you  and  I."  This  last  was  to  me. 
Then  to  Quin :  "  Do  you  see  that  long,  bony 
Swiss,  with  the  boots  and  porcelain  pipe?  He's 
in  an  ugly  mood,  doesn't  speak  English,  and  within 
one  minute  after  you  return  to  the  wharf,  he  and 
I  will  be  entangled  in  a  rough  and  tumble  riot. 
I'll  attend  to  that.  The  row  will  be  prodigious. 
The  chief  will  be  sent  for  to  settle  the  war,  and 

149 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

when  he  leaves  the  wharf,  Quin,  don't  wait ;  seize 
on  that  silk  trunk  and  throw  it  into  the  river. 
There's  iron  enough  clamped  about  the  corners 
to  sink  it;  besides,  it's  packed  so  tightly  it's  as 
heavy  as  lead,  and  will  go  to  the  bottom  like  an 
anvil.  Then  from  the  pile  pull  down  some  trunk 
similar  to  it  in  looks  and  stand  it  in  its  place. 
It'll  go  in  the  dark.  Give  the  new  trunk  my  mark, 
as  the  chief  has  already  read  the  name  on  the 
trunk.  Go,  Quin;  I  rely  on  you." 

''  You  can  trust  me,  my  boy,"  retorted  Quin, 
cheerfully,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he  was  back 
on  the  wharf  in  a  moment,  and  apparently  busy 
about  the  pile  of  baggage. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  mighty  uproar  aboard 
ship.  Lorns'and  the  Swiss,  the  latter  already  irate 
over  some  trouble  he  had  experienced,  were  roll 
ing  about  the  deck  in  a  most  violent  scrimmage, 
the  Swiss  having  decidedly  the  worst  of  the 
trouble.  The  chief  rushed  up  the  plank;  Lorns 
and  the  descendant  of  Tell  and  Winkelried,  were 
torn  apart;  and  then  a  double  din  of  explanation 
ensued.  After  ten  minutes,  the  chief  was  able  to 
straighten  out  the  difficulty — whatever  its  pretend 
ed  cause  might  be  I  know  not ;  for  I  held  myself 
warily  aloof,  not  a  little  alarmed  by  what  Lorns 
had  communicated — and  repaired  again  to  his  sta 
tion  upon  the  wharf. 

As  the  chief  came  down  the  plank,  Quin,  who 
had  not  been  a  moment  behind  him  in  going 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

aboard  to  discover  the  reasons  of  the  riot,  fol 
lowed.  Brief  as  was  that  moment,  however,  dur 
ing  which  Quin  had  lingered  behind,  he  had  made 
the  shift  suggested  by  Lorns;  the  silk  trunk  was 
under  the  river,  a  strange  trunk  stood  in  its  stead. 

As  the  chief  returned,  he  walked  straight  to 
this  suspected  trunk  and  tipped  it  down  with  his 
foot.  Then  to  Quin : 

"  Ask  Lorns  to  step  here." 

Quin  went  questing  Lorns;  shortly  Lorns  and 
Quin  came  back  together.  The  chief  turned  in 
a  brisk,  sharp,  official  way  to  Lorns: 

"  Did  you  inspect  this  trunk?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Lorns,  looking  at  the  chalk  marks 
as  if  to  make  sure. 

"Open  it!" 

No  keys  were  procurable;  the  owners,  Lorns 
said,  had  long  since  left  the  docks.  But  Lorns 
suggested  that  he  get  hammer  and  cold-chisel 
from  the  ship. 

The  trunk  was  opened  and  found  free  and  inno 
cent  of  aught  contraband.  The  chief  wore  a 
puzzled,  dark  look ;  he  felt  that  he'd  been  cheated, 
but  he  couldn't  say  how.  Therefore,  being  wise, 
the  chief  gulped,  said  nothing,  and  as  life  is  short 
and  he  had  many  things  to  do,  soon  after  left  the 
docks  and  went  his  way. 

"  That  was  a  squeak !  "  said  Lorns  when  we 
were  at  last  free  of  the  dangerous  chief.  "  Quin, 
I  thank  you." 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  That's  all  right,"  retorted  Quin,  with  a  grin ; 
"  do  as  much  for  me  some  time." 

That  night,  with  the  aid  of  a  river  pirate,  our 
trunk,  jettisoned  by  the  excellent  Quin,  was  fished 
up;  and  being  tight  as  a  drum,  its  contents  had 
come  to  little  harm  with  the  baptism.  At  last, 
our  dozen  silk  trunks — holding  a  treasure  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars  and  whereon  we  looked  to  clear 
a  heavy  profit — were  safe  in  the  Reade  Street  loft ; 
and  my  hasty  heart,  which  had  been  beating  at 
double  speed  since  that  almost  fatal  interference, 
slowed  to  normal. 

One  might  now  suppose  our  woes  were  at  an 
end,  all  danger  over,  and  nothing  to  do  but  dis 
pose  of  that  shimmering  cargo  to  best  advantage. 
Harris  and  I  were  of  that  spirit-lifting  view;  we 
began  on  the  very  next  day  to  feel  about  for  cus 
tomers. 

Harris,  whose  former  smuggling  exploits  had 
dealt  solely  with  gems,  knew  as  little  of  silk  as  did 
I.  Had  either  been  expert  he  might  have  fore 
seen  a  coming  peril  into  whose  arms  we  in  our 
blindness  all  but  walked.  No,  our  troubles  were 
not  yet  done.  We  had  escaped  the  engulfing  suck 
of  Charybdis,  only  to  be  darted  upon  by  those  six 
grim  mouths  of  her  sister  monster,  Scylla,  over 
the  way. 

Well  do  I  recall  that  morning.  I  had  seen  but 
two  possible  purchasers  of  silks  when  Harris  over 
took  me.  His  eye  shone  with  alarm.  Lorns  had 

152 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

run  him  down  with  the  news — however  he  himself 
discovered  it,  I  never  knew — that  another  danger 
yawned. 

Harris  hurried  me  to  our  Reade  Street  lair  and 
gave  particulars. 

"  It  seems,"  said  Harris,  quite  out  of  breath 
with  the  speed  we'd  made  in  hunting  cover,  "  that 
Stewart  is  for  America  the  sole  agent  of  these  par 
ticular  brands  of  silk  which  we've  brought  in. 
Some  one  to  whom  we've  offered  them  has  noti 
fied  the  Stewart  company.  At  this  moment  and 
as  we  sit  here,  the  detectives  belonging  to  Stewart, 
and  for  all  I  may  guess,  the  whole  Central  Office 
as  well,  are  on  our  track.  They  want  to  dis 
cover  who  has  these  silks ;  and  how  they  came  in, 
since  the  customs  records  show  no  such  importa 
tions.  And  there's  a  dark  characteristic  to  these 
silks.  Each  bolt  has  its  peculiar,  individual  sel 
vage.  Each,  with  a  sample  of  its  selvage,  is  regis 
tered  at  the  home  looms.  Could  anyone  get  a 
snip  of  a  selvage  he  could  return  with  it  to  Lyons, 
learn  from  the  manufacturers'  book  just  when  it 
was  woven,  when  sold,  and  to  whom.  I  can  tell 
you  one  thing,"  observed  Harris,  as  he  concluded 
his  story,  "  we're  in  a  bad  corner." 

How  the  cold  drops  spangled  my  brows !  I  be 
gan  to  wish  with  much  heart  that  I'd  never  met 
Harris,  nor  heard,  that  Trinity  churchyard  day, 
of  Cornbury  and  his  smuggling  methods  of  gather 
ing  gold. 

153 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

There  was  one  ray  of  hope ;  neither  Harris  nor 
I  had  disclosed  our  names,  nor  the  whereabouts 
or  quantity  of  the  silks ;  and  as  each  had  been 
dealing  with  folk  with  whom  he'd  never  before 
met,  we  were  both  as  yet  mysteries  unsolved. 

Nor  were  we  ever  solved.  Harris  and  I  kept 
off  the  streets  during  daylight  hours  for  a  full 
month.  We  were  not  utterly  idle ;  we  unpleasant 
ly  employed  ourselves  in  trimming  away  that  tell 
tale  selvage. 

Preferring  safety  to  profit,  we  put  forth  no 
efforts  to  realize  on  our  speculations  for  almost 
a  year.  By  that  time  the  one  day's  wonder  of 
"Who's  got  Stewart's  silks?"  had  ceased  to  dis 
turb  the  mercantile  world  and  the  grand  proces 
sion  of  dry  goods  interest  passed  on  and  over  it. 

At  last  we  crept  forth  like  felons — as,  good 
sooth!  we  were — and  disposed  of  our  mutilated 
silks  to  certain  good  folk  whose  forefathers  once 
ruled  Palestine.  These  gentry  liked  bargains,  and 
were  in  no  wise  curious;  they  bought  our  wares 
without  lifting  an  eyebrow  of  inquiry,  and  from 
them  constructed — though  with  that  I  had  no 
concern — those  long  "  circulars,"  so  called,  which 
were  the  feminine  joy  a  third  of  a  century  gone. 

As  to  Harris  and  myself;  what  with  delays, 
what  with  expenses,  what  with  figures  reduced  to 
dispose  of  our  plunder,  we  got  evenly  out.  We 
got  back  our  money;  but  for  those  fear-shaken 
hours  of  two  separate  perils,  we  were  never  paid. 

154 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

I  smuggled  no  more.  Still,  I  did  not  relinquish 
my  pious  purpose  to  despoil  that  public  treasury 
Egyptian  quoted  heretofore.  Neither  did  I  give 
up  the  Customs  as  a  rich  field  of  illicit  endeavor. 
But  my  methods  changed.  I  now  decided  that  I, 
myself,  would  become  an  Inspector,  like  unto  the 
useful  Lorns,  and  make  my  fortune  from  the  opu 
lent  inside.  I  procured  the  coveted  appointment, 
for  I  could  bring  power  to  bear,  and  later  I'll  tell 
you  of  The  Emperor's  Cigars. 


When  I  was  in  my  room  that  night,  making 
ready  for  bed,  I  could  still  hear  the  soft,  cold 
fingers  of  the  snow  upon  the  pane.  What  a  storm 
was  that!  Our  landlord  who  had  been  boy  and 
man  and  was  now  gray  in  that  old  inn,  declared 
how  he  had  never  witnessed  the  smothering  fellow 
to  it. 

The  following  day,  while  still  and  bright  and 
no  snow  to  fall,  showed  a  temperature  below  zero. 
The  white  blockade  still  held  us  fast,  and  now  the 
desperate  cold  was  come  to  be  the  ally  of  the 
snow.  Departure  was  never  a  question. 

As  we  kicked  the  logs  into  a  cheerful  uproar  of 
sparks,  and  drew  that  evening  about  the  great 
fireplace,  it  was  the  Old  Cattleman  to  break  con 
versational  ground. 

"  Do  you-all  know,"  said  he,  "  I  shore  feels 
155 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

that  idle  this  evenin'  it's  worse'n  scand'lous 
— it's  reedic'lous."  Here  he  threw  himself  back 
in  his  armchair  and  yawned.  "  Pardon  these  yere 
demonstrations  of  weariness,  gents,"  he  observed ; 
"  they  ain't  aimed  at  you  none.  That's  the  fact, 
though;  this  amazin'  sensation  of  bein'  held  a 
prisoner  is  beginnin'  to  gnaw  at  me  a  heap.  Talk 
of  '  a  painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean/  like 
that  poem  sharp  wrote  of!  Why  that  vessel's 
sedyoolously  employed  compared  to  us !  " 

"  You  should  recall/'  remarked  the  Jolly  Doc 
tor,  "  how  somewhere  it  is  said  that  whatever 
your  hand  finds  to  do,  you  should  do  it  with  all 
your  heart.  Now,  I  would  say  the  counsel  ap 
plies  to  our  present  position.  Since  we  must 
needs  be  idle,  let  us  be  idle  heartily  and  happily, 
and  get  every  good  to  lie  hidden  in  what  to  me, 
at  least,  is  a  most  pleasant  companionship." 

"  I  shore  unites  with  you,"  responded  the  Old 
Cattleman,  "  in  them  script'ral  exhortations  to  do 
things  with  all  your  heart.  It  was  Wild  Bill 
Hickox's  way,  too;  an'  a  Christian  adherence  to 
that  commandment,  not  only  saves  Bill's  life,  but 
endows  him  with  the  record  for  single-handed 
killin's  so  far  as  we-all  has  accounts." 

"  Is  it  a  story?  "  asked  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man.  "  Once  in  a  while  I  relish  a  good  blood 
and  thunder  tale." 

"  It's  this  a-way,"  said  the  Old  Cattleman. 
"  Bill's  hand  is  forced  by  the  Jake  McCandlas 

156 


THAT  SMUGGLED  SILK. 

gang.  Bill  has  'em  to  do ;  an'  rememberin',  doubt 
less,  the  Bible  lessons  of  his  old  mother  back  in 
Illinois,  he  shore  does  'em  with  all  his  heart,  as 
the  good  book  says.  This  yere  is  the  story  oi 
'  The  Wiping  Out  of  McCandlas.'  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M*CANDLAS. 

Tell  you-all  a  tale  of  blood?  It  shore  irritates 
me  a  heap,  gents,  when  you  eastern  folks  looks 
allers  to  the  west  for  stories  red  an'  drippin'  with 
murder.  Which  mighty  likely  now  the  west  is 
plenty  peaceful  compared  with  this  yere  east  itse'f. 
Thar's  one  thing  you  can  put  in  your  mem'randum 
book  for  footure  ref'rence,  an'  that  is,  for  all  them 
years  I  inhabits  Arizona  an'  Texas  an'  sim'lar 
energetic  localities,  I  never  trembles  for  my  life, 
an'  goes  about  plumb  furtive,  expectin'  every 
moment  is  goin'  to  be  my  next  that  a-way,  ontil  I 
finds  myse'f  camped  on  the  sunrise  side  of  the 
Alleghenies. 

Nacherally,  I  admits,  thar  has  been  a  modicum 
of  blood  shed  west  an'  some  slight  share  tharof 
can  be  charged  to  Arizona.  No,  I  can't  say  I 
deplores  these  killin's  none.  Every  gent  has  got 
to  die.  For  one,  I'm  mighty  glad  the  game's  been 
rigged  that  a-way.  I'd  shore  hesitate  a  lot  to  be 
born  onless  I  was  shore  I'd  up  an'  some  day  cash 
in.  Live  forever?  No,  don't  confer  on  me  no 
sech  gloomy  outlook.  If  a  angel  was  to  appear 

158 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'CANDLAS. 

in  our  midst  an'  saw  off  on  me  the  news  that  I 
was  to  go  on  an'  on  as  I  be  now,  livin'  forever  like 
that  Wanderin'  Jew,  the  information  would  stop 
my  clock  right  thar.  I'd  drop  dead  in  my  moc 
casins. 

It  don't  make  much  difference,  when  you  gives 
yourse'f  to  a  ca'm  consid'ration  of  the  question 
as  to  when  you  dies  or  how  you  dies.  The  im 
portant  thing  is  to  die  as  becomes  a  gent  of 
sperit  who  has  nothin'  to  regret.  Every  one  soon 
or  late  comes  to  his  trail's  end.  Life  is  like  a 
faro  game.  One  gent  has  ten  dollars,  another  a 
hundred,  another  a  thousand,  and  still  others  has 
rolls  big  enough  to  choke  a  cow.  But  whether 
a  gent  is  weak  or  strong,  poor  or  rich,  it's  written 
in  advance  that  he's  doomed  to  go  broke  final. 
He's  doomed  to  die.  Tharfore,  when  that's  set 
tled,  of  what  moment  is  it  whether  he  goes  broke 
in  an  hour,  or  pikes  along  for  a  week — dies  to-day 
or  postpones  his  funeral  for  years  an'  mebby 
decades? 

Holdin'  to  these  yere  views,  you  can  see  without 
my  tellin'  that  a  killing  once  it  be  over,  ain't  likely 
to  harass  me  much.  Like  the  rest  of  you-all,  I've 
been  trailin'  out  after  my  grave  ever  since  I  was 
foaled — on  a  hunt  for  my  sepulcher,  you  may  say 
— an'  it  ought  not  to  shock  me  to  a  showdown  jest 
because  some  pard  tracks  up  ag'inst  his  last  restin' 
place,  spreads  his  blankets  an'  goes  into  final 
camp  before  it  come  my  own  turn. 

159 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

But,  speakin'  of  killin's,  the  most  onusual  I  ever 
hears  of  is  when  Wild  Bill  Hickox  cleans  up  the 
Jake  McCandlas  gang.  This  Bill  I  knows  inti 
mate;  he's  not  so  locoed  as  his  name  might  lead 
a  gent  to  concloode.  The  truth  is,  he's  a  mighty 
crafty,  careful  form  of  sport;  an'  he  never  pulled 
a  gun  ontil  he  knew  what  for  an'  never  onhooked 
it  ontil  he  knew  what  at. 

An'  speakin'  of  the  latter — the  onhookin'  part — 
that  Wild  Bill  never  missed.  That's  his  one  gift ; 
he's  born  to  make  a  center  shot  whenever  his 
six-shooter  expresses  itse'f. 

This  McCandlas  time  is  doorin'  them  border 
troubles  between  Missouri  an'  Kansas.  Jest  prior 
tharunto,  Bill  gets  the  ill-will  of  the  Missouri  out 
fit  by  some  gun  play  he  makes  at  Independence, 
then  the  eastern  end  of  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail. 
What  Bill  accomplishes  at  Independence  is  a  heap 
effectual  an'  does  him  proud.  But  it  don't  endear 
him  none  to  the  Missouri  heart.  Moreover,  it 
starts  a  passel  of  resentful  zealots  to  lookin'  for 
him  a  heap  f'rocious,  an'  so  he  pulls  his  freight. 

It's  mebby  six  months  later  when  Bill  is  holdin' 
down  a  stage  station  some'eres  over  in  Kansas — 
it's  about  a  day's  ride  at  a  road-gait  from  Inde 
pendence  —  for  Ben  Holiday's  overland  line. 
Thar's  the  widow  of  a  compadre  of  Bill  who  has 
a  wickeyup  about  a  mile  away,  an'  one  day  Bill 
gets  on  his  hoss,  Black  Nell,  an'  goes  romancin' 
over  to  see  how  the  widow's  gettin'  on.  This 

1 60 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M  CANDLAS. 

Black  Nell  hoss  of  Bill's  is  some  cel'brated.  Black 
"Nell  is  tame  as  a  kitten  an'  saveys  more'n  a  hired 
man.  She'd  climb  a  pa'r  of  steps  an'  come  sa'n- 
terin'  into  a  dance  hall  or  a  hurdy  gurdy  if  Bill 
calls  to  her,  an'  I  makes  no  doubt  she'd  a-took 
off  her  own  saddle  an'  bridle  an'  gone  to  bed 
with  a  pa'r  of  blankets,  same  as  folks,  if  Bill  said 
it  was  the  proper  antic  for  a  pony. 

It's  afternoon  when  Bill  rides  up  to  pow-wow 
with  this  relict  of  his  pard.  As  he  comes  into 
the  one  room  —  for  said  wickeyup  ain't  palatial, 
an'  consists  of  one  big  room,  that  a-way,  an'  a 
jim-crow  leanto  —  Bill  says  : 

"  Howdy,  Jule  ?  "  like  that. 

"  Howdy,  Bill  ?  "  says  the  widow.  "  'Light  an' 
rest  your  hat,  while  I  roam  'round  an'  rustle  some 
chuck."  This  widow  has  the  right  idee. 

While  Bill  is  camped  down  on  a  stool  waitin' 
for  the  promised  came  an'  flap-jacks,  or  what 
ever  may  be  the  grub  his  hostess  is  aimin'  to  on- 
loose,  he  casts  a  glance  outen  the  window.  He's 
interested  at  once.  Off  across  the  plains  he  dis 
cerns  the  killer,  McCandlas  an'  his  band  p'intin' 
straight  for  the  widow's.  They're  from  Missouri  ; 
thar's  'leven  of  'em,  corral  count,  an'  all  "  bad." 

As  they  can  see  his  mare,  Black  Nell,  standin' 
in  front  of  the  widow's,  Bill  argues  jestly  that  the 
McCandlas  outfit  knows  he's  thar;  an'  from  the 
speed  they're  makin'  in  their  approach,  he  likewise 


161 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

dedooces  that  they're  a  heap  eager  for  his  com 
pany. 

Bill  don't  have  to  study  none  to  tell  that  thar's 
somebody  goin'  to  get  action.  It's  likely  to  be 
mighty  onequal,  but  thar's  no  he'p;  an'  so  Bill 
pulls  his  gun-belt  tighter,  an'  organizes  to  go 
as  far  as  he  can.  He  has  with  him  only  one  six- 
shooter;  that's  a  severe  setback.  Now,  if  he  was 
packin'  two  the  approaching  war  jig  would  have 
carried  feachers  of  comfort.  But  he's  got  a  nine- 
inch  bowie,  which  is  some  relief.  When  his  six- 
shooter's  empty,  he  can  fall  back  on  the  knife, 
die  hard,  an'  leave  his  mark. 

As  Bill  rolls  the  cylinder  of  his  gun  to  see  if 
she's  workin'  free,  an'  loosens  the  bowie  to  avoid 
delays,  his  eye  falls  on  a  rifle  hangin'  above  the 
door. 

"  Is  it  loaded,  Jule?"  asks  Bill. 

"  Loaded  to  the  gyards,"  say^s  the  widow. 

"  An'  that  ain't  no  fool  of  a  piece  of  news, 
neither,"  says  Bill,  as  he  reaches  down  the  rifle. 
11  Now,  Jule,  you-all  better  stampede  into  the 
cellar  a  whole  lot  ontil  further  orders.  Thar's 
goin'  to  be  heated  times  'round  yere  an'  you'd 
run  the  resk  of  gettin'  scorched." 

"  I'd  sooner  stay  an'  see,  Bill,"  says  the  widow. 
"You-all  knows  how  eager  an'  full  of  cur'osity 
a  lady  is,"  an'  here  the  widow  beams  on  Bill  an' 
simpers  coaxin'ly. 

"An'  I'd  shore  say  stay,  Jule,"  says  Bill,  "if 
162 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'cANDLAS. 

you  could  turn  a  trick.  But  you  sees  yourse'f, 
you  couldn't.  An'  you'd  be  in  the  way." 

Thar's  a  big  burrow  out  in  the  yard;  what 
Kansas  people  deenominates  as  a  cyclone  cellar. 
It's  like  a  cave;  every  se'f-respectin'  Kansas 
fam'ly  has  one.  They  may  not  own  no  bank  ac 
count;  they  may  not  own  no  good  repoote;  but 
you  can  gamble,  they've  got  a  cyclone  cave. 

Shore,  it  ain't  for  ornament,  nor  yet  for  ostenta 
tion.  Thar's  allers  a  breeze  blowin'  plenty  stiff 
across  the  plains.  Commonly,  it's  strenyous 
enough  to  pick  up  a  empty  bar'l  an'  hold  it 
ag'inst  the  side  of  a  buildin'  for  a  week.  Sech  is 
the  usual  zephyr.  Folks  don't  heed  them  none. 
But  now  an'  then  one  of  these  yere  cyclones  jumps 
a  gent's  camp,  an'  then  it's  time  to  make  for  cover. 
Thar's  nothin'  to  be  said  back  to  a  cyclone.  It'll 
take  the  water  outen  a  well,  or  the  money  outen 
your  pocket,  or  the  ha'r  off  your  head;  it'll  get 
away  with  everything  about  you  incloodin'  your 
address.  Your  one  chance  is  a  cyclone  cellar; 
an'  even  that  refooge  ain't  no  shore-thing,  for 
I  knowed  a  cyclone  once  that  simply  feels  down 
an'  pulls  a  badger  outen  his  hole.  Still,  sech  as 
the  last,  is  onfrequent. 

The  widow  accepts  Bill's  advice  an'  makes  for 
the  storm  cave.  This  leaves  Bill  happy  an'  easy 
in  his  mind,  for  it  gives  him  plenty  of  room  an* 
nothin'  to  think  of  but  himse'f.  An'  Bill  shore 
admires  a  good  fight. 

163 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

He  don't  have  long  to  wait  after  the  widow 
stampedes.  Bill  hears  the  sweep  of  the  'leven 
McCandlas  hosses  as  they  come  chargin'  up.  No, 
he  can't  see;  he  ain't  quite  that  weak-minded  as 
to  be  lookin'  out  the  window. 

As  the  band  halts,  Bill  hears  McCandlas  say: 

"  Shore,  gents ;  that's  Wild  Bill's  hoss.  We've 
got  him  treed  an'  out  on  a  limb ;  to-morry  evenin' 
we'll  put  that  long-ha'red  skelp  of  his  in  a  show 
case  in  Independence."  Then  McCandlas  gives  a 
whoop,  an'  bluffs  Bill  to  come  out.  "  Come  out 
yere,  Bill ;  we  needs  you  to  decide  a  bet,"  yells 
McCandlas.  "Come  out;  thar's  no  good  skulk- 
in'." 

"  Say,  Jake,"  retorts  Bill ;  "  I'll  gamble  that  you 
an'  your  hoss  thieves  ain't  got  the  sand  to  come, 
after  me.  Come  at  once  if  you  comes ;  I  despises 
delays,  an'  besides  I've  got  to  be  through  with 
you-all  an'  back  to  the  stage  station  by  dark." 

"  I'll  put  you  where  thar  ain't  no  stage  lines, 
Bill,  long  before  dark,"  says  McCandlas.  An' 
with  that  he  comes  caperin'  through  the  window, 
sash,  glass,  an'  the  entire  lay-out,  as  blithe  as 
May  an'  a  gun  in  each  hand. 

Bill  cuts  loose  the  Hawkins  as  he's  anxious  to 
get  the  big  gun  off  his  mind.  It  stops  McCandlas, 
"  squar'  in  the  door,"  as  they  says  in  monte ;  only 
it's  the  window.  McCandlas  falls  dead  outside. 

"  An'  I'm  sorry  for  that,  too,"  says  Bill  to  him- 
se'f.  "  I'm  preemature  some  about  that  shot.  I 

164 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'CANDLAS. 

oughter  let  Jake  come  in.  Then  I  could  have  got 
his  guns." 

When  McCandlas  goes  down,  the  ten  others 
charges  with  a  whoop.  They  comes  roarin' 
through  every  window;  they  breaks  in  the  door; 
they  descends  on  Bill's  fortress  like  a  'possum  on 
a  partridge  nest! 

An'  then  ensoos  the  busiest  season  which  any 
gent  ever  cuts  in  upon.  The  air  is  heavy  with 
bullets  an'  thick  with  smoke.  The  walls  of  the 
room  later  looks  like  a  colander. 

It's  a  mighty  fav'rable  fight,  an'  Bill  don't  suf 
fer  none  in  his  repoote  that  Kansas  afternoon. 
Faster  than  you  can  count,  his  gun  barks;  an' 
each  time  thar's  a  warrior  less.  One,  two,  three, 
four,  five,  six;  they  p'ints  out  after  McCandlas 
an'  not  a  half  second  between  'em  as  they  starts. 
It  was  good  luck  an'  good  shootin'  in  combination. 

It's  the  limit ;  six  dead  to  a  single  Colt's !  No 
gent  ever  approaches  it  but  once;  an'  that's  a 
locoed  sharp  named  Metzger  in  Raton.  He  starts 
in  with  Moulton  who's  the  alcade,  an'  beefs  five 
an'  creases  another;  an'  all  to  the  same  one  gun. 
The  public,  before  he  can  reload,  hangs  Metzger 
to  the  sign  in  front  of  the  First  National  Bank, 
so  he  don't  have  much  time  to  enjoy  himse'f  re- 
vie\vin'  said  feats. 

Rifle  an'  six-shooter  empty;  seven  dead  an' 
done,  an'  four  to  take  his  knife  an'  talk  it  over 


165 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

with!  That's  the  situation  when  Bill  pulls  his 
bowie  an'  starts  to  finish  up. 

It  shore  ain't  boy's  play;  the  quintette  who's 
still  prancin'  about  the  field  is  as  bitter  a  com 
bination  as  you'd  meet  in  a  long  day's  ride.  Their 
guns  is  empty,  too;  an'  they,  like  Bill,  down  to 
the  steel.  An'  thar's  reason  to  believe  that  the 
fight  from  this  p'int  on  is  even  more  interestin' 
than  the  part  that's  gone  before.  Thar's  no  haltin' 
or  hangin'  back;  thar  ain't  a  bashful  gent  in  the 
herd.  They  goes  to  the  center  like  one  man. 

Bill,  who's  as  quick  an'  strong  as  a  mountain 
lion,  with  forty  times  the  heart  an'  fire,  grips  one 
McCandlas  party  by  the  wrist.  Thar's  a  twist  an' 
a  wrench  an'  Bill  onj'ints  his  arm. 

That's  the  last  of  the  battle  Bill  remembers.  All 
is  whirl  an'  smoke  an'  curse  an'  stagger  an'  cut 
an'  stab  after  that,  with  tables  crashin'  an'  the 
wreck  an'  jangle  of  glass. 

But  the  end  comes.  Whether  the  struggle 
from  the  moment  when  it's  got  down  to  the 
bowies  lasts  two  minutes  or  twenty,  Bill  never 
can  say.  When  it's  over,  Bill  finds  himse'f  still 
on  his  feet,  an'  he's  pushin'  the  last  gent  off  his 
blade.  Split  through  the  heart,  this  yere  last 
sport  falls  to  the  floor  in  a  dead  heap,  an'  Bill's 
alone,  blood  to  both  shoulders. 

Is  Bill  hurt  ?  Gents,  it  ain't  much  likely  he's  put 
'leven  fightin'  men  into  the  misty  beyond,  the  final 
four  with  a  knife,  an'  him  plumb  scatheless !  No, 

1 66 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'CANDLAS. 

Bill's  slashed  so  he  wouldn't  hold  hay;  an'  thar's 
more  bullets  in  his  frame  than  thar's  pease  in  a 
pod.  The  Doc  who  is  called  in,  an'  who  prospects 
Bill,  allers  allowed  that  it's  the  mistake  of  his  life 
he  don't  locate  Bill  an'  work  him  for  a  lead  mine. 

When  the  battle  is  over  an'  peace  resoomes  its 
sway,  Bill  begins  to  stagger.  An'  he's  preyed  on 
by  thirst.  Bill  steadies  himse'f  along  the  wall; 
an'  weak  an'  half  blind  from  the  fogs  of  fightin', 
he  feels  his  way  out  o'  doors. 

Thar's  a  tub  of  rain-water  onder  the  eaves ;  it's 
the  only  thing  Bill's  thinkin'  of  at  the  last.  He 
bends  down  to  drink;  an'  with  that,  faints  an' 
falls  with  his  head  in  the  tub. 

It's  the  widow  who  rescoos  Bill;  she  emerges 
outen  her  cyclone  cellar  an'  saves  Bill  from  drown- 
in'.  An'  he  lives,  too;  lives  to  be  downed  years 
afterward  when  up  at  Deadwood  a  timid  party 
who  don't  dare  come  'round  in  front,  drills  Bill 
from  the  r'ar.  But  what  can  you  look  for? 
Folks  who  lives  by  the  sword  will  perish  by  the 
sword  as  the  scripters  sets  forth,  an'  I  reckons 
now  them  warnin's  likewise  covers  guns. 


"  And  did  that  really  happen?  "  asked  the  Red 
Nosed  Gentleman,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 

"  It's  as  troo  as  that  burgundy  you're  absorb- 
in',"  replied  the  Old  Cattleman. 

167 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  observed  the  Sour  Gen 
tleman  ;  "  a  strong  hour  makes  a  strong  man. 
Did  this  Wild  Bill  Hickox  wed  the  widow  who 
pulled  him  out  of  the  tub  ?  " 

"Which  I  don't  think  so,"  returned  the  Old 
Cattleman.  "  If  he  does,  Bill  keeps  them  nup 
tials  a  secret.  But  it's  a  cinch  he  don't.  As  I 
says  at  the  jump,  Bill  is  a  mighty  wary  citizen  an' 
not  likely  to  go  walkin'  into  no  sech  ambuscade  as 
a  widow." 

"  You  do  not  think,  then,"  observed  the  Red 
Nosed  Gentleman,  "  that  a  wife  would  be  a  bless- 
ing?" 

"  She  wouldn't  be  to  Wild  Bill  Hickox,"  said 
the  Old  Cattleman.  "  Thar  is  gents  who  ought 
never  to  wed,  an'  Bill's  one.  He  was  bound  to 
be  killed  final;  the  game  law  was  out  on  Bill  for 
years.  Now  when  a  gent  is  shore  to  cash  in  that 
a-way,  why  should  he  go  roundin'  up  a  wife? 
Thar  oughter  be  a  act  of  congress  ag'in  it,  an'  I 
onderstand  that  some  sech  measure  is  to  be  intro- 
dooced." 

"  Passing  laws,"  remarked  the  Jolly  Doctor, 
"  is  no  such  easy  matter,  now,  as  passing  the 
bottle."  Here  the  Jolly  Doctor  looked  meaningly 
at  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  who  thereupon 
shoved  the  burgundy  into  the  Jolly  Doctor's  hand 
with  all  conceivable  alacrity.  Like  every  good 
drinker,  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  loved  a  cup 
companion.  '  There  was  a  western  person,"  went 

1 68 


THE  WIPING  OUT  OF  M'CANDLAS. 

on  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "  named  Jim  Britt,  who  came 
east  to  have  a  certain  law  passed;  he  didn't  find 
it  flowers  to  his  feet." 

"What  now  was  the  deetails?"  said  the  Old 
Cattleman.  "  The  doin's  an'  plottin's  an'  double- 
plays  of  them  law-makin'  mavericks  in  congress 
is  allers  a  heap  thrillin'  to  me." 

"  Very  well/'  responded  the  Jolly  Doctor;  "  let 
each  light  a  fresh  cigar,  for  it's  rather  a  long 
story,  and  when  all  are  comfortable,  I'll  give  you 
the  history  of  '  How  Jim  Britt  Passed  His  Bill.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW  JIM   BRITT  PASSED   HIS  BILL. 

Last  Chance  was  a  hamlet  in  southeastern 
Kansas.  Last  Chance,  though  fervid,  was  not 
large.  Indeed,  a  cowboy  in  a  spirit  of  insult  born 
of  a  bicker  with  the  town  marshal  had  said  he 
could  throw  the  loop  of  his  lariat  about  Last 
Chance  and  drag  it  from  the  map  with  his  pony. 
However,  this  was  hyperbole. 

Jim  Britt  was  not  the  least  conspicuous  among 
the  men  of  Last  Chance.  Withal,  Jim  Britt  was 
much  diffused  throughout  the  commerce  of  that 
village  and  claimed  interests  in  a  dozen  local  estab 
lishments,  from  a  lumber  yard  to  a  hotel.  Spare 
of  frame,  and  of  an  anxious  predatory  nose,  was 
Jim  Britt;  and  his  gray  eyes  ever  roving  for 
a  next  investment ;  and  the  more  novel  the  enter 
prise,  the  more  leniently  did  Jim  Britt  regard  it. 
The  new  had  for  him  a  fascination,  since  he  was 
in  way  and  heart  an  Alexander  and  hungered 
covetously  for  further  worlds  to  conquer.  Thus 
it  befell  that  Jim  Britt  came  naturally  to  his  desire 
to  build  a  railway  when  the  exigencies  of  his 
affairs  opened  gate  to  the  suggestion. 

170 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

Jim  Britt  became  the  proprietor  of  a  lead  mine 
— or  was  it  zinc? — in  southeastern  Missouri,  and 
no  mighty  distance  from  his  own  abode  of  Last 
Chance.  The  mine  was  somewhat  thrust  upon 
Jim  Britt  by  Fate,  since  he  accepted  it  for  a  bad 
debt.  It  was  "  lead  mine  or  nothing,"  and  Jim 
Britt,  whose  instincts,  like  Nature,  abhorred  a 
vacuum,  took  the  mine.  It  was  a  good  mine,  but 
a  drawback  lurked  in  the  location ;  it  lay  over  the 
Ozark  Hills  and  far  away  from  any  nearest  whistle 
of  a  railroad. 

This  isolation  taught  Jim  Britt  the  thought  of 
connecting  his  mine  by  rail  with  Last  Chance; 
the  latter  was  an  easiest  nearest  point,  and  the 
route  offered  a  most  accommodating  grade.  A 
straight  line,  or  as  the  crow  is  said  to  fly  but 
doesn't,  would  make  the  length  of  the  proposed 
improvement  fifty  miles.  When  done,  it  would 
serve  not  only  Jim  Britt's  mine,  but  admirably  as 
a  feeder  for  the  Fort  Scot  and  Gulf ;  and  Jim  Britt 
foresaw  riches  in  that.  Altogether,  the  notion 
was  none  such  desperate  scheme. 

There  was  a  side  serious,  however,  which  must 
be  considered.  The  line  would  cross  the  extreme 
northeast  angle  of  the  Indian  Territory,  or  as  it 
is  styled  in  those  far  regions,  the  "  Nation,"  and 
for  this  invasion  of  redskin  holdings  the  consent 
of  the  general  government,  through  its  Congress 
assembled,  must  be  secured. 

Jim  Britt,  far  from  being  depressed,  said  he 
171 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

would  go  to  Washington  and  get  it;  he  rather 
reveled  in  the  notion.  Samantha,  his  wife,  shook 
her  head  doubtfully. 

"  Jim  Britt,"  said  Samantha,  severely,  "  you 
ain't  been  east  since  Mr.  Lincoln  was  shot.  You 
know  no  more  of  Washington  than  a  wolf.  I'd 
give  that  railroad  up;  and  especially,  I'd  keep 
away  from  Congress.  Don't  try  to  braid  that 
mule's  tail " — Samantha  was  lapsing  into  the 
metaphor  common  of  Last  Chance — "  don't  try 
to  braid  that  mule's  tail.  It'll  kick  you  plumb 
out  o'  the  stall." 

But  Jim  Britt  was  firm;  the  mule  simile  in  no 
sort  abated  him. 

"  But  what  could  you  do  with  Congress?  "  per 
sisted  Samantha;  "  you,  a  stranger  and  alone?  " 

Jim  Britt  argued  that  one  determined  individual 
could  do  much;  energy  wisely  employed  would 
overcome  mere  numbers.  He  cited  the  ferocious 
instance  of  a  dim  relative  of  his  own,  a  vivacious 
person  yclept  Turner,  who  because  of  injuries 
fancied  or  real,  hung  for  years  about  the  tribal 
flanks  of  the  Comanches  and  potted  their  lead 
ing  citizens.  This  the  vigorous  Turner  kept  up 
until  he  had  corralled  sixty  Comanche  top-nots; 
and  the  end  was  not  yet  when  the  Comanches 
themselves  appealed  to  their  agent  for  protec 
tion.  They  said  they  couldn't  assemble  for  a 
green  corn  dance,  or  about  a  regalement  of  baked 
dog,  without  the  Winchester  of  the  unauthorized 

172 


JIM    BRITT. 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

Turner  barking  from  some  convenient  hill;  the 
squaws  would  then  have  nothing  left  but  to  wail 
the  death  song  of  some  eminent  spirit  thus  sifted 
from  their  midst.  When  they  rode  to  the  hill  in 
hunt  of  Turner,  he  would  be  miles  away  on  his 
pony,  and  adding  to  his  safety  with  every  jump. 
The  Comanches  were  much  disgusted,  and  de 
manded  the  agent's  interference. 

Upon  this  mournful  showing,  Turner  was 
brought  in  and  told  to  desist;  and  as  a  full  com 
plement  of  threats,  which  included  among  their 
features  a  trial  at  Fort  Smith  and  a  gibbet,  went 
with  the  request,  Turner  was  in  the  end  prevailed 
on  to  let  his  Winchester  sleep  in  its  rack,  and 
thereafter  the  Comanches  danced  and  devoured 
dog  unscared.  The  sullen  Turner  said  the  Co 
manches  had  slain  his  parent  long  ago ;  the  agent 
expressed  regrets,  but  stuck  for  it  that  even  with 
such  an  impetus  a  normal  vengeance  should  have 
run  itself  out  with  the  conquest  of  those  sixty 
scalps. 

Jim  Britt  told  this  story  of  Turner  to  Samantha ; 
and  then  he  argued  that  as  the  Comanches  were 
made  to  feel  a  one-man  power  by  the  industrious 
Turner,  so  would  he,  Jim  Britt,  for  all  he  stood 
alone,  compel  Congress  to  his  demands.  He 
would  take  that  right  of  way  across  the  Indian 
Territory  from  between  their  very  teeth.  He  was 
an  American  citizen  and  Congress  was  his  servant ; 
in  this  wise  spake  Jim  Britt. 

173 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  That's  all  right,"  argued  the  pessimistic  Sam- 
antha;  "that's  all  right  about  your  drunken 
Turner ;  but  he  had  a  Winchester.  Now  you  ain't 
goin'  to  tackle  Congress  with  no  gun,  Jim  Britt." 

Despite  the  gloomy  prophecies  of  Samantha, 
whom  Jim  Britt  looked  on  as  a  kind  of  Cassandra 
without  having  heard  of  Cassandra,  our  would-be 
railroad  builder  wound  up  the  threads  and  loose 
ends  of  his  Last  Chance  businesses,  and  having, 
as  he  described  it,  "  fixed  things  so  they  would 
run  themselves  for  a  month,"  struck  out  for  Wash 
ington.  Jim  Britt  carried  twenty-five  hundred 
dollars  in  his  pocket,  confidence  in  his  heart,  and 
Samantha's  forebode  of  darkling  failure  in  his 
ears. 

While  no  fop  and  never  setting  up  to  be  the 
local  Brummel,  Jim  Britt's  clothes  theretofore  had 
matched  both  his  hour  and  environment,  and  held 
their  decent  own  in  the  van  of  Last  Chance 
fashion.  But  the  farther  Jim  Britt  penetrated  to 
the  eastward  in  his  native  land,  the  more  his 
raiment  seemed  to  fall  behind  the  age;  and  at 
the  last,  when  he  was  fairly  within  the  gates  of 
Washington,  he  began  to  feel  exceeding  wild  and 
strange.  Also,  it  affected  him  somewhat  to  dis 
cover  himself  almost  alone  as  a  tobacco  chewer, 
and  that  a  great  art  preserved  in  its  fullness  by 
Last  Chance  had  fallen  to  decay  along  the  At 
lantic.  These,  however,  were  questions  of  minor 
moment,  and  save  that  his  rococo  garb  drove  the 

174 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

sensitive  Jim  Britt  into  cheap  lodgings  in  Four- 
and-one-half  Street,  instead  of  one  of  the  capital's 
gilded  hotels,  they  owned  no  effect. 

This  last  is  set  forth  in  defence  against  an 
imputation  of  parsimony  on  the  side  of  Jim  Britt. 
He  was  one  who  spent  his  money  like  a  king 
whenever  and  wherever  his  education  or  experi 
ence  pointed  the  way.  It  was  his  clothes  of  a 
remote  period  to  make  him  shy,  else  Jim  Britt 
would  have  shrunk  not  from  the  Raleigh  itself, 
but  climbed  and  clambered  and  browsed  among 
the  timberline  prices  of  its  grill-room,  as  safe  and 
satisfied  as  ever  browsed  mountain  goat  on  the 
high  levels  of  its  upland  home.  Yea,  forsooth ! 
Jim  Britt,  like  a  sailor  ashore,  could  spend  his 
money  with  a  free  and  happy  hand. 

Jim  Britt,  acting  on  a  hint  offered  of  his  sensi 
bilities,  for  a  first  step  reclothed  himself  from  a 
high-priced  shop ;  following  these  improvements, 
save  for  the  fact  that  he  appalled  the  eye  as  a 
trifle  gorgeous,  he  might  not  have  disturbed  the 
sacred  taste  of  Connecticut  Avenue  itself.  In 
short,  in  the  matter  of  garb,  Jim  Britt,  while 
audible,  was  down  to  date. 

With  the  confidence  born  of  his  new  clothes — 
for  clothes  in  some  respects  may  make  the  man — 
Jim  Britt  sate  him  down  to  study  Congress.  He 
deemed  it  a  citadel  to  be  stormed ;  not  lacking  in 
military  genius  he  began  to  look  it  over  for  a  weak 
point. 

175 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

These  adventures  of  Jim  Britt  now  about  a 
record,  occurred,  you  should  understand,  almost 
a  decade  ago.  In  that  day  there  should  have  been 
eighty-eight  senators  and  three  hundred  and  fifty- 
six  representatives,  albeit,  by  reason  of  death  or 
failure  to  elect,  a  not-to-be-noticed  handful  of 
seats  were  vacant. 

By  an  industrious  perusal  of  the  Congressional 
directory,  wherein  the  skeleton  of  each  House  was 
laid  out  and  told  in  all  its  divers  committee  small- 
bones,  Jim  Britt  began  to  understand  a  few  of  the 
lions  in  his  path.  For  his  confusion  he  found  that 
Congress  was  sub-divided  into  full  sixty  commit 
tees,  beginning  with  such  giant  conventions  as 
the  Ways  and  Means,  Appropriations,  Military, 
Naval,  Coinage,  Weights  and  Measures,  Banking 
and  Currency,  Indian,  Public  Lands,  Postal,  and 
Pensions,  and  dwindling  down  to  ignoble  riffraff 
— which  owned  each  a  chairman,  a  committee 
room,  a  full  complement  of  clerks  and  messengers, 
and  an  existence,  but  never  convened — like  the 
Committee  on  Acoustics  and  Ventliation,  and  Al 
coholic  Liquor  Traffic. 

Jim  Britt  learned  also  of  the  Sergeants  at  Arms 
of  Senate  and  House,  and  how  these  dignitaries 
controlled  the  money  for  those  bodies  and  paid 
the  members  their  salaries.  Incidentally,  and  by 
way  of  gossip,  he  was  told  of  that  House  Sergeant 
who  had  levanted  with  the  riches  entrusted  to  his 
hands,  and  left  the  broken  membership,  gnashing 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

its  teeth  in  poverty  and  impotent  gloom,  unable 
to  draw  pay. 

Then,  too,  there  was  a  Document  Room  where 
the  bills  and  resolutions  were  kept  when  printed. 
Also,  about  each  of  the  five  doors  of  House  and 
Senate,  when  those  sacred  gatherings  were  in  ses 
sion,  there  were  situated  a  host  of  messengers, 
carried  for  twelve  hundred  dollars  a  year  each 
on  the  Doorkeeper's  rolls.  It  was  the  duty  and 
pleasure  of  these  myrmidons  to  bring  forth  mem 
bers  into  the  corridors,  to  the  end  that  they  be 
refreshed  with  a  word  of  counsel  from  constituents 
who  had  traveled  thither  for  that  purpose ;  and  in 
the  finish  to  lend  said  constituents  money  to  re 
turn  home. 

Jim  Britt,  following  these  first  connings  of  the 
directory,  went  personally  to  the  capitol,  and  from 
the  galleries,  leaning  his  chin  on  the  rail  the  while, 
gazed  earnestly  on  greatness  about  the  transaction 
of  its  fame.  These  studies  and  personally  con 
ducted  tours,  and  those  conversations  to  be  their 
incident  which  came  off  between  Jim  Britt  and 
chance-blown  folk  who  fell  across  his  pathway,  en 
larged  Jim  Britt's  store  of  information  in  sundry 
fashions.  He  discovered  that  full  ten  thousand 
bills  and  resolutions  were  introduced  each  Con 
gress  ;  that  by  virtue  of  a  mere  narrowness  of  time 
not  more  than  five  per  cent,  of  this  storm  of  busi 
ness  could  be  dealt  with,  the  other  ninety-five, 
whether  for  good  or  ill,  being  starved  to  death  for 

12  177 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

lack  of  occasion.  The  days  themselves  were  no 
longer  than  five  working  hours  since  Congress 
convened  at  noon. 

The  great  radical  difference  between  House  and 
Senate  loomed  upon  Jim  Britt  in  a  contrast  of 
powers  which  abode  with  the  presiding  officers  of 
those  mills  to  grind  new  laws.  The  president  of 
the  Senate  owned  few  or  none.  He  might  en 
force  Jefferson's  rules  for  debates  and  call  a  re 
calcitrant  senator  to  order,  a  call  to  which  the 
recalcitrant  paid  little  heed  beyond  tart  remarks 
on  his  part  concerning  his  own  high  determina 
tions  to  yield  to  no  gavel  tyranny,  coupled  with  a 
forceful  though  conceited  assurance  flung  to  the 
Senate  at  large,  that  he,  the  recalcitrant,  knew  his 
rights  (which  he  never  did),  and  would  uphold 
them  (which  he  never  failed  to  do.)  The  Senate 
president  named  no  committees;  owned  no  con 
trol  over  the  order  of  business;  indeed  he  was 
limited  to  a  vote  on  ties,  a  warning  that  he  would 
clear  the  galleries  (which  was  never  done)  when 
the  public  therein  roosting,  applauded,  and  the 
right  to  prevent  two  senators  from  talking  at  one 
and  the  same  time.  These  marked  the  utmost 
measure  of  his  influence.  Any  senator  could  get 
the  floor  for  any  purpose,  and  talk  on  any  subject 
from  Prester  John  to  Sheep  in  the  Seventeenth 
Century,  while  his  strength  stood.  Also,  and 
much  as  dogs  have  kennels  permitted  them  for 
their  habitation,  the  presiding  officer  of  the  Senate 

178 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

— in  other  words,  the  Vice-President  of  the  na 
tion — was  given  a  room,  separate  and  secluded 
to  himself,  into  which  he  might  creep  when 
chagrin  for  his  own  unimportance  should  over 
master  him  or  otherwise  his  woes  become  greater 
than  he  might  publicly  bear. 

The  House  Speaker  was  a  vastly  different  cock, 
with  a  louder  crow  and  longer  spur.  The  Speaker 
was  a  king,  indeed;  and  an  absolute  monarch  or 
an  autocrat  or  what  you  will  that  signifies  one  who 
may  do  as  he  chooses,  exercise  unbridled  will, 
and  generally  sit  beneath  the  broad  shadows  of 
the  vine  and  the  fig  tree  of  his  prerogatives  with 
none  to  molest  him  or  make  him  afraid.  The 
Speaker  was,  so  to  phrase  it,  the  entire  House, 
the  other  three  hundred  and  fifty-five  members 
acting  only  when  he  consented  or  compelled  them, 
and  then  usually  by  his  suggestion  and  always 
under  his  thumb.  No  bill  could  be  considered 
without  the  Speaker's  permission;  and  then  for 
so  long  only  as  he  should  allow,  and  by  what 
members  he  preferred.  No  man  could  speak  to 
a  measure  wanting  the  gracious  consent  of  this 
dignitary ;  and  no  word  could  be  uttered — at  least 
persisted  in — 'to  which  he  felt  distaste.  The 
Speaker,  when  lengths  and  breadths  are  measured, 
was  greater  than  the  Moscow  Czar  and  showed 
him  a  handless  infant  by  comparison. 

As  a  half-glove  of  velvet  for  his  iron  hand,  and 
to  mask  and  soften  his  pure  autocracy — which  if 

179 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

seen  naked  might  shock  the  spirit  of  Americanism 
— there  existed  a  Rules  Committee.  This  sub- 
body,  whereof  the  Speaker  was  chief,  carried,  be 
sides  himself,  but  two  members;  and  these  he 
personally  selected,  as  indeed  he  did  the  entire 
membership  of  every  committee  on  the  House 
muster-rolls.  This  Rules  Committee,  with  the 
Speaker  in  absolute  sway,  acted  with  reference  to 
the  House  at  large  as  do  the  Board  of  Judges  for  a 
racecourse.  It  declared  each  day  what  bills  should 
be  taken  up,  limited  debate,  and  to  pursue  the 
Track  simile  to  a  last  word,  called  on  this  race 
or  cleared  the  course  of  that  race,  and  fairly  speak 
ing  dry-nursed  the  House  throughout  its  travels, 
romps  and  lessons. 

Jim  Britt  discovered  that  in  all,  counting 
Speaker,  Rules  Committee,  and  a  dozen  chairmen 
of  the  great  committees,  there  existed  no  more 
than  fifteen  folk  who  might  by  any  stretch  of 
veracity  be  said  to  have  a  least  of  voice  in  the 
transaction  of  House  business.  In  the  gagged 
and  bound  cases  of  the  other  three  hundred  and 
forty-one,  and  for  what  public  good  or  ill  to  flow 
from  them,  their  constituents  would  have  fared 
as  well  had  they,  instead  of  electing  these  repre 
sentatives,  confined  themselves  to  writing  the 
government  a  letter  setting  forth  their  wants. 

In  reference  to  his  own  bill,  Jim  Britt  convinced 
himself  of  two  imposing  truths.  Anybody  would 
and  could  introduce  it  in  either  House  or  Senate 

1 80 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

or  in  both  at  once;  then,  when  thus  introduced 
and  it  had  taken  the  routine  course  to  the  proper 
committee,  the  situation  would  ask  the  fervent 
agreement  of  a  majority  in  each  body,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Speaker's  consent — a  consent  as 
hard  to  gain  as  a  girl's — to  bring  it  up  for  passage. 

Nor  was  there  any  security  of  concert.  The 
bill  might  be  fashionable,  not  to  say  popular,  with 
one  body,  while  the  other  turned  rigid  back  upon 
it.  It  might  live  in  the  House  to  die  in  the 
Senate,  or  succeed  in  the  Senate  and  perish  in 
the  House.  There  were  no  safety  and  little  hope 
to  be  won  in  any  corner,  and  the  lone  certainty 
to  peer  forth  upon  Jim  Britt  was  that  the  chances 
stood  immeasurably  against  him  wherever  he 
turned  his  eyes.  The  camel  for  the  needle's  eye 
and  the  rich  man  into  heaven,  were  easy  and 
feasible  when  laid  side  by  side  with  the  Congres 
sional  outlook  for  his  bill. 

While  Jim  Britt  was  now  sensibly  cast  down 
and  pressed  upon  by  despair,  within  him  the  eager 
ness  for  triumph  grew  taller  with  each  day.  For 
one  daunting  matter,  should  he  return  empty  of 
hand,  Samantha  would  wear  the  fact  fresh  and 
new  upon  her  tongue's  end  to  the  last  closing  of 
his  eyes.  It  would  become  a  daily  illustration — 
an  hourly  argument  in  her  practiced  mouth. 

There  was  one  good  to  come  to  Jim  Britt  by 
his  investigations  and  that  was  a  good  instruction. 
Like  many  another,  Jim  Britt,  from  the  deceitful 

181 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

distance  of  Last  Chance,  had  ever  regarded  both 
House  and  Senate  as  gigantic  conspiracies.  They 
were  eaten  of  plot  and  permeated  of  intrigue ;  it 
was  all  chicane  and  surprise  and  sharp  practice. 
Congress  was  a  name  for  traps  and  gins  and  pits 
and  snares  and  deadfalls.  The  word  meant  tun 
nels  and  trap-doors  and  vaults  and  dungeons  and 
sinister  black  whatnot.  Jim  Britt  never  paused 
to  consider  wherefore  Congress  should,  for  ends 
either  clean  or  foul,  conceal  within  itself  these 
midnight  commodities  of  mask  and  dark-lantern, 
and  go  about  its  destiny  a  perennial  Guy  Fawkes, 
ready  to  explode  a  situation  with  a  touch  and 
blow  itself  and  all  concerned  to  far-spread  flinders. 
Had  he  done  so  he  might  have  dismissed  these 
murky  beliefs. 

It  is,  however,  never  too  late  to  mend.  It  be 
gan  now  to  dawn  upon  Jim  Britt  by  the  morning 
light  of  what  he  read  and  heard  and  witnessed, 
that  both  Houses  in  their  plan  and  movement 
were  as  simple  as  a  wire  fence ;  no  more  recondite 
than  is  a  pair  of  shears.  They  might  be  wrong, 
but  they  were  not  intricate;  they  might  spoil  a 
deal  of  cloth  in  their  cutting,  or  grow  dull  of 
edge  or  loose  of  joint  and  so  not  cut  at  all,  but 
they  were  not  mysterious.  Certainly,  Congress 
was  no  more  a  conspiracy  than  is  a  flock  of  geese, 
and  a  brooding  hen  would  be  as  guilty  of  a  plot 
and  as  deep  given  to  intrigue.  Congress  was  a 
stone  wall  or  a  precipice  or  a  bridgeless  gulf  or 

182 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

chloroform  or  what  one  would  that  was  stupefy 
ing  or  difficult  of  passage  to  the  border  of  the 
impossible,  but  there  dwelt  nothing  occult  or  se 
cret  or  unknowable  in  its  bowels.  These  truths 
of  simplicity  Jim  Britt  began  to  learn  and,  while 
they  did  not  cheer,  at  least  they  served  to  clear 
him  up. 

Following  two  weeks  of  investigation,  Jim  Britt 
secured  the  introduction  of  his  bill.  This  came 
off  by  asking;  the  representative  from  the  Last 
Chance  district  performing  in  the  one  body,  while 
one  of  the  Kansas  senators  acted  in  the  more  ven 
erable  convention. 

Now  when  the  bill  was  introduced,  printed,  and 
in  the  lap  of  the  proper  committee,  Jim  Britt 
went  to  work  to  secure  the  bill's  report.  He 
might  as  well  have  stormed  the  skies  to  steal  a 
star ;  he  found  himself  as  helpless  as  a  fly  in  amber. 

About  this  hour  in  his  destinies,  Jim  Britt  made 
a  radical  and,  as  it  turned,  a  decisive  move.  He 
had  now  grown  used  to  Washington  and  Wash 
ington  to  him,  and  while  folk  still  stared  and  many 
grinned,  Jim  Britt  did  not  receive  that  ovation  as 
he  moved  about  which  marked  and  made  unhappy 
his  earlier  days  in  the  town.  Believing  it  neces 
sary  to  his  bill's  weal,  Jim  Britt  began  to  haunt 
John  Chamberlin's  house  of  call  as  then  was,  and 
to  scrape  acquaintance  with  statesmen  who  passed 
hours  of  ease  and  wine  in  its  parlors. 

In  the  commencement  of  his  Chamberlin  ex- 

183 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

periences  Jim  Britt  met  much  to  affright  him.  A 
snowy-bearded  senator  from  Nevada  sat  at  a  table. 
On  seeing  Jim  Britt  smile  upon  him  in  a  friendly 
way — he  was  hoping  to  make  the  senator's  ac 
quaintance — he  of  the  snow-beard,  apropos  of 
nothing,  suddenly  thundered: 

"  I  have  this  day  read  John  Sherman's  defence 
of  the  Crime  of  'Seventy-Three.  John  Sherman 
contends  that  no  crime  was  committed  because  no 
criminals  were  caught." 

This  outburst  so  dismayed  Jim  Britt  that  he 
sought  a  far  corner  and  no  more  tempted  the  ex- 
plosiveness  of  Snow-Beard. 

Again,  Jim  Britt  would  engage  a  venerable  sen 
ator  from  Alabama  in  talk.  He  was  instantly 
taken  by  the  helpless  button,  and  for  a  quintette 
of  hours  told  of  the  national  need  of  a  Panama 
Canal,  and  given  a  list  of  what  railroads  in  their 
venality  set  the  flinty  face  of  their  opposition  to 
its  coming  about. 

These  things,  the  thunders  of  Snow-Beard  and 
the  exhaustive  settings  forth  of  the  senator  from 
the  south,  pierced  Jim  Britt ;  for  he  reflected  that 
if  the  questions  of  silver  and  Panama  could  not 
be  budged  for  their  benefit  by  these  gentlemen 
of  beard  and  long  experience  and  who  dwelt  well 
within  the  breastworks  of  legislation,  then  his 
bill  for  that  small  right  of  way,  and  none  to  aid 
it  save  himself  in  his  poor  obscurity,  could  hope 
for  nothing  except  death  and  burial  where  it  lay. 

184 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

There  was  a  gentleman  of  Congress  well  known 
and  loved  as  the  Statesman  from  Tupelo.  He  was 
frequent  and  popular  about  Chamberlin's.  The 
Statesman  from  Tupelo  was  a  humorist  of  cele 
bration  and  one  of  the  redeeming  features  of  the 
House  of  Representatives.  His  eye  fell  upon  the 
queer,  ungainly  form  of  Jim  Britt,  with  hungry 
face,  eyes  keen  but  guileless,  and  nose  of  falcon 
curve. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  beheld  in  Jim  Britt 
with  his  Gothic  simplicity  a  self-offered  prey  to 
the  spear  of  every  joker.  The  Statesman  from 
Tupelo,  with  a  specious  suavity  of  accent  and  a 
blandness  irresistible,  drew  forth  Jim  Britt  in  con 
verse.  The  latter,  flustered,  flattered,  went  to 
extremes  of  confidence  and  laid  frankly  bare  his 
railroad  hopes  and  fears  which  were  now  all  fears. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  listened  with  dec 
orous  albeit  sympathetic  gravity.  When  Jim 
Britt  was  done  he  spoke: 

"  As  you  say,"  observed  the  Statesman  from 
Tupelo,  "  your  one  chance  is  to  get  acquainted 
with  a  majority  of  both  Houses  and  interest  them 
personally  in  your  bill." 

"But  how  might  a  party  do  that  soonest?" 
asked  Jim  Britt.  "  I  don't  want  to  camp  yere 
for  the  balance  of  my  days.  Besides,  thar's  Sa- 
mantha." 

"  Certainly,  there's  Samantha,"  assented  the 
Statesman  from  Tupelo.  Then  following  a  pause : 

185 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  I  suppose  the  readiest  method  would  be  to  give 
a  dinner.     Could  you  undertake  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  reckon  I  could." 

The  dinner  project  obtained  kindly  foothold  in 
the  breast  of  Jim  Britt;  he  had  read  of  such  ban 
quet  deeds  as  a  boy  when  the  papers  told  the 
splendors  of  Sam  Ward  and  the  Lucullian  day  of 
the  old  Pacific  Mail.  Jim  Britt  had  had  no  experi 
ence  of  Chamberlin  prices,  since  his  purchases  at 
that  hotel  had  gone  no  farther  a-field  than  a  now- 
and-then  cigar.  He  had  for  most  part  subsisted 
at  those  cheap  restaurants  which — for  that  there 
be  many  threadbare  folk,  spent  with  their  vigils 
about  Congress,  hoping  for  their  denied  rights — 
are  singularly  abundant  in  Washington.  These 
modest  places  of  regale  would  give  no  good  notion 
of  Chamberlin's,  but  quite  the  contrary.  Where 
fore,  Jim  Britt,  quick  with  railway  ardor  and  to 
get  back  to  the  far-away  Samantha,  took  the 
urgent  initiative,  and  said  he  would  order  the  din 
ner  for  what  night  the  Statesman  from  Tupelo 
deemed  best,  if  only  that  potent  spirit  would  agree 
to  gather  in  the  guests. 

"  We  will  have  the  dinner,  then,"  said  He  of 
Tupelo,  "  on  next  Saturday.  You  can  tell  Cham 
berlin;  and  I'll  see  to  the  guests." 

"How  many?"  said  Chamberlin's  steward, 
when  he  received  the  orders  of  Jim  Britt. 

The  coming  railway  magnate  looked  at  the 
Statesman  from  Tupelo. 

1 86 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

"  Say  fifty/'  remarked  the  Statesman  from 
Tupelo. 

Jim  Britt  was  delighted.  He  would  have  liked 
sixty  guests  better,  or  if  one  might,  one  hundred ; 
but  fifty  was  a  fair  start.  There  could  come  other 
dinners,  for  the  future  holds  a  deal  of  room.  In 
time  Jim  Britt  might  dine  a  full  moiety  of  Con 
gress.  The  dinner  was  fixed;  the  menu  left  to 
the  steward's  ingenuity  and  taste;  and  now  when 
the  situation  was  thus  relaid,  and  Saturday  distant 
but  two  days,  Jim  Britt  himself  called  for  an 
apartment  at  Chamberlin's,  sent  for  his  one  trunk, 
and  established  himself  on  the  scene  of  coming 
dinner  action  to  have  instant  advantage  of  what 
ever  offered  that  might  be  twisted  to  affect  his 
lead-mine  road. 

The  long  tables  for  Jim  Britt's  dinner  were 
spread  in  a  dining  room  upstairs.  There  were  fifty 
covers,  and  room  for  twenty  more  should  twenty 
come.  The  apartment  itself  was  a  jungle  of  trop 
ical  plants,  and  the  ground  plan  of  the  feast  laid 
on  a  scale  of  bill-threatening  magnificence. 

This  was  but  right.  For  when  the  steward 
would  have  consulted  the  exultant  Jim  Britt  whose 
florid  imaginings  had  quite  carried  him  off  his 
feet,  that  gentleman  said  simply: 

"Make  the  play  with  the  bridle  off!  Don't 
pinch  down  for  a  chip." 

Thereupon  the  steward  cast  aside  restraint  and 
wandered  forth  upon  that  dinner  with  a  heart 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

care-free  and  unrestrained.  He  would  make  of 
it  a  moment  of  terrapin  and  canvas-back  and  bur 
gundy  which  time  should  date  from  and  folk  re 
member  for  long  to  the  Chamberlin  praise. 

Saturday  arrived,  and  throughout  the  afternoon 
Jim  Britt,  by  grace  of  the  good  steward,  who  had 
a  pride  of  his  work  and  loved  applause,  teetered 
in  and  out  of  the  dining  room  and  with  dancing 
eye  and  mouth  ajar  gave  rein  to  admiration.  It 
would  be  a  mighty  dinner;  it  would  land  his  bill 
in  his  successful  hands,  and  make,  besides,  a  story 
to  amaze  the  folk  of  Last  Chance  to  a  standstill. 
These  be  not  our  words;  rather  they  flowed  as 
the  advance  jubilations  of  Jim  Britt. 

There  was  one  thought  to  bear  upon  Jim  Britt 
to  bashful  disadvantage.  The  prospect  of  enter 
taining  fifty  statesmen  shook  his  confidence  and 
took  his  breath.  To  repair  these  disasters  he 
called  privily  from  time  to  time  for  whiskey. 

It  was  not  over-long  before  he  talked  thickly 
his  encomiums  to  the  steward.  On  his  last  visit 
to  survey  that  fairyland  of  a  dining  room,  Jim 
Britt  counted  covers  laid  for  several  hundred 
guests ;  what  was  still  more  wondrous,  he  believed 
they  would  come  and  the  prospect  rejoiced  him. 
There  were  as  many  lights,  too,  in  the  chande 
liers  as  stars  of  a  still  winter's  night,  while  the 
apartment  seemed  as  large  as  a  ten-acre  lot  and 
waved  a  broad  forest  of  foliage. 

That  he  might  be  certainly  present  on  the  ar- 
188 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

rival  of  the  first  guest — for  Jim  Britt  knew  and 
felt  his  duties  as  a  host — Jim  Britt  lay  down  upon 
a  lounge  which,  to  one  side,  was  deeply,  sweetly 
bowered  beneath  the  overhanging  palms.  Then 
Jim  Britt  went  earnestly  to  sleep  and  was  no  more 
to  be  aroused  than  a  dead  man. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  appeared ;  by  twos 
and  threes  and  tens,  gathered  the  guests;  Jim 
Britt  slept  on  the  sleep  of  innocence  without  a 
dream.  A  steering  committee  named  to  that  pur 
pose  on  the  spot  by  the  Statesman  from  Tupelo, 
sought  to  recover  Jim  Britt  to  a  knowledge  of  his 
fortunate  honors.  Full  sixty  guests  were  there, 
and  it  was  but  right  that  he  be  granted  the  pleas 
ure,  not  to  say  the  glory,  of  their  acquaintance. 

It  was  of  no  avail ;  Jim  Britt  would  not  be  with 
drawn  from  slumbers  deep  as  death.  The  steer 
ing  committee  suspended  its  labors  of  restoration. 
As  said  the  chairman  in  making  his  report,  which, 
with  a  wine  glass  in  his  hand,  he  subsequently  did 
between  soup  and  fish : 

"  Our  most  cunning  efforts  were  fruitless.  We 
even  threw  water  on  him,  but  it  was  like  throwing 
water  on  a  drowned  rat." 

Thus  did  his  slumbers  defend  themselves,  and 
Jim  Britt  snore  unchecked. 

But  the  dinner  was  not  to  flag.  The  Statesman 
from  Tupelo  took  the  head  of  the  table  and  the 
chairman  of  the  steering  committee  the  foot,  the 
repast  proceeded  while  wine  and  humor  flowed. 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

It  was  a  dream  of  a  dinner,  a  most  desirable 
dinner,  a  dinner  that  should  stand  for  years  an 
honor  to  Jim  Britt  of  Last  Chance.  It  raged  from 
eight  till  three.  Corks  and  jokes  were  popping 
while  laughter  walked  abroad;  speeches  were 
made  and  songs  were  sung.  Through  it  all,  the 
serene  founder  of  the  feast  slept  on,  and  albeit 
eloquence  took  up  his  name  and  twined  about  it 
flowery  compliment,  he  knew  it  not.  Tranquilly 
on  his  lounge  he  abode  in  dear  oblivion. 

Things  mundane  end  and  so  did  Jim  Britt's 
dinner.  There  struck  an  hour  when  the  last  song 
was  sung,  the  last  jest  was  made,  and  the  last 
guest  departed  away.  The  Statesman  from  Tu 
pelo  superintended  the  transportation  of  Jim  Britt 
to  his  room,  and  having  made  him  safe,  He  of 
Tupelo  went  also  out  into  the  morning,  and  that 
famous  banquet  was  of  the  perfumed  past. 

It  dawned  Wednesday  before  the  Statesman 
from  Tupelo  called  again  at  Chamberlin's  to  ask 
for  the  excellent  Jim  Britt.  The  Statesman  from 
Tupelo  explained  wherefore  he  was  thus  laggard. 

"  I  thought,"  he  said  to  Chamberlin,  "  that  our 
friend  would  need  Sunday,  Monday  and  Tuesday 
to  straighten  up  his  head." 

"  The  man's  gone,"  said  Chamberlin ;  "  he  de 
parted  Monday  morning." 

"And  whither?" 

"  Home  to  Last  Chance." 

"What  did  he  go  home  for?" 
190 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

"  That  dinner  broke  him,  I  guess.  It  cost  about 
eighteen  hundred  dollars,  and  he  only  had  a  little 
over  a  hundred  when  the  bill  was  paid." 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  mused,  while  clouds 
of  regret  began  to  gather  on  his  brow.  His  con 
science  had  him  by  the  collar;  his  conscience  was 
avenging  that  bankruptcy  of  Jim  Britt. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  received  Jim  Britt's 
address  from  the  hands  of  Chamberlin's  clerk. 
The  next  day  the  Statesman  from  Tupelo  wrote 
Jim  Britt  a  letter.  It  ran  thus: 

Chamberlin's  Hotel. 
My  Dear  Sir: — 

Don't  come  back.  Write  me  in  full  the  exact 
story  of  what  you  want  and  why  you  want  it.  I've 
got  a  copy  of  your  bill  from  the  Document  Room, 
and  so  soon  as  I  hear  from  you,  shall  urge  the 
business  before  the  proper  committee. 

When  Jim  Britt's  reply  came  to  hand,  the 
Statesman  from  Tupelo — whom  nobody  could  re 
sist — prevailed  on  the  committee  to  report  the  bill. 
Then  he  got  the  Speaker,  who  while  iron  with 
others  was  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  the  Statesman 
from  Tupelo,  to  recognize  him  to  bring  up  the 
bill.  The  House,  equally  under  his  spell,  gave  the 
Statesman  from  Tupelo  its  unanimous  consent,  and 
the  bill  was  carried  in  the  blink  of  a  moment  to  its 
third  reading  and  put  upon  its  passage.  Then  the 

191 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Statesman  from  Tupelo  made  a  speech;  he  said 
it  was  a  confession. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  talked  for  fifteen 
minutes  while  the  House  howled.  He  told  the 
destruction  of  Jim  Britt.  He  painted  the  dinner 
and  pointed  to  those  members  of  the  House  who 
attended;  he  reminded  them  of  the  desolation 
which  their  appetites  had  worked.  He  said  the 
House  was  disgraced  in  the  downfall  of  Jim  Britt, 
and  admitted  that  he  and  his  fellow  diners  were 
culpable  to  a  last  extreme.  But  there  was  a  way 
to  repair  all.  The  bill  must  be  passed,  the  stain 
on  the  House  must  be  washed  away,  Jim  Britt 
must  stand  again  on  his  fiscal  feet,  and  then  he, 
the  Statesman  from  Tupelo,  and  his  fellow  con 
spirators,  might  once  more  look  mankind  in  the 
eye. 

There  be  those  who  will  do  for  laughter  what 
they  would  not  do  for  right.  The  House  passed 
Jim  Britt's  bill  unanimously. 

The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  carried  it  to  the 
Senate.  He  explained  the  painful  situation  and 
described  the  remedy.  Would  the  Senate  un 
bend  from  its  stern  dignity  as  the  greatest  delib 
erative  body  of  any  clime  or  age,  and  come  to  the 
rescue  of  the  Statesman  from  Tupelo  and  the 
House  of  Representatives  now  wallowing  in  in 
famy? 

The  Senate  would ;  by  virtue  of  a  kink  in  Senate 
rules  which  permitted  the  feat,  the  Jim  Britt  Bill 

192 


HOW  JIM  BRITT  PASSED  HIS  BILL. 

was  instantly  and  unanimously  adopted  without 
the  intervention  of  a  committee,  the  ordering  a 
reference  or  a  roll-call.  The  Statesman  from 
Tupelo  thanked  the  Senate  and  withdrew,  pre 
tending-  emotion. 

There  was  one  more  journey  to  make,  one  more 
power  to  consult,  and  the  mighty  work  would  be 
accomplished.  The  President  must  sign  the  bill. 
The  Statesman  from  Tupelo  walked  in  on  that 
tremendous  officer  of  state  and  told  him  the  tale 
of  injury  done  Jim  Britt.  The  Statesman  from 
Tupelo,  by  way  of  metaphor,  called  himself  and 
his  fellow  sinners,  cannibals,  and  showed  how 
they  had  eaten  Jim  Britt.  Then  he  reminded  the 
President  how  he  had  once  before  gone  to  the 
rescue  of  cannibals  in  the  case  of  Queen  Lil. 
Would  he  now  come  to  the  relief  of  the  States 
man  from  Tupelo  and  his  fellow  Anthropophagi 
of  the  House? 

The  President  was  overcome  with  the  word  and 
the  idea ;  he  scribbled  his  name  in  cramped  copper 
plate,  and  the  deed  was  done.  The  Jim  Britt  Bill 
was  a  law,  and  Jim  Britt  saved  from  the  life-long 
taunts  of  Samantha,  the  retentive.  The  road 
from  Last  Chance  to  the  lead  mine  was  built,  and 
on  hearing  of  its  completion  the  Statesman  from 
Tupelo  wrote  for  an  annual  pass. 


'Then   it  was   luck   after   all,"   said   the    Red 

13  I93 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Nosed  Gentleman,  "  rather  than  management  to 
save  the  day  for  your  Jim  Britt." 

"  Entirely  so,"   conceded  the  Jolly  Doctor. 

"  There's  a  mighty  deal  in  luck,"  observed  the 
Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  sagely.  "  Certainly,  it's 
the  major  part  in  gambling,  and  I  think,  too,  luck 
is  a  decisive  element  in  every  victory  or  defeat 
a  man  experiences." 

"  And,  now,"  observed  the  Sour  Gentleman, 
"  now  that  you  mention  gambling,  suppose  you 
redeem  your  promise  and  give  us  the  story  of 
'  How  to  Tell  the  Last  Four/  The  phrase  is 
dark  to  me  and  has  no  meaning,  but  I  inferred 
from  what  you  were  saying  when  you  used  it, 
that  you  alluded  to  some  game  of  chance.  As 
suredly,  I  crave  pardon  if  I  be  in  error,"  and  now 
the  Sour  Gentleman  bowed  with  vast  politeness. 

"  You  are  not  in  error,"  returned  the  Red 
Nosed  Gentleman,  "  and  I  did  refer  to  gambling. 
Casino,  however,  when  played  by  Casino  Joe  was 
no  game  of  chance,  but  of  science;  his  secret,  he 
said  in  explanation,  lay  in  '  How  to  Tell  the  Last 
Four.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

HOW  TO   TELL   THE   LAST   FOUR. 

Casino  Joe,  when  thirty  years  ago  he  came 
about  the  Bowery,  was  in  manner  and  speech  a 
complete  expression  of  the  rustical.  His  brow 
was  high  and  fine  and  wise;  but  lank  hair  of  yel 
low  spoiled  with  its  ragged  fringe  his  face — a 
sallow  face,  wide  of  mouth  and  with  high  cheek 
bones.  His  garb  was  farmerish;  kip-skin  boots, 
coat  and  trousers  of  gray  jeans,  hickory  shirt,  and 
soft  shapeless  hat.  Nor  was  Casino  Joe  in  dis 
guise;  these  habiliments  made  up  the  uniform  of 
his  ancestral  New  Hampshire.  Countryman  all 
over,  was  Casino  Joe,  and  this  look  of  the  un 
couth  served  him  in  his  chosen  profession. 

Possibly  "  chosen "  as  a  term  is  indiscreet. 
Gamblers  are  born  and  not  made ;  they  occur  and 
they  do  not  choose ;  they  are,  compared  with  more 
conservative  and  lawful  men,  what  wolves  are  to 
honest  dogs — cousins,  truly,  but  tameless  depre 
dators,  living  lean  and  hard,  and  dying  when  die 
they  do,  neglected,  lone  and  poor.  Yet  it  is  fate ; 
they  are  born  to  it  as  much  as  is  the  Ishmael  wolf 
and  must  run  their  midnight  downhill  courses. 

195 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Gamblers,  that  is  true  gamblers,  are  folk  of 
specialties.  Casino  Joe's  was  the  game  which 
gave  to  him  his  name — at  casino  he  throve  in 
vincibly. 

"  It  is  my  gift,"  he  said. 

Two  things  were  with  Casino  Joe  at  birth;  the 
genius  for  casino  and  that  jack-knife  talent  to 
whittle  which  belongs  with  true-born  Yankees. 
Of  this  latter  I  had  proof  long  after  poor  Casino 
Joe  was  dead  and  nourishing  the  grass.  The  races 
were  in  Boston;  it  was  when  Goldsmith  Maid 
reigned  Queen  of  the  trotting  turf.  Her  owner 
came  to  me  at  the  Adams  House  and  told  how 
the  aged  sire  of  Goldsmith  Maid,  the  great  Henry 
Clay,  was  in  his  equine,  joint-stiffened  dotage  pas 
tured  on  a  not  too  distant  farm.  He  was  eager 
to  have  a  look  at  the  old  horse;  and  I  went  with 
him  for  this  pilgrimage. 

As  we  drove  up  to  the  tavern  which  the  farm 
stead  wre  sought  surrounded,  my  curious  eye  was 
caught  by  a  fluttering  windmill  contrivance 
perched  upon  the  gable.  It  was  the  figure  of  a 
woman  done  in  pine  and  perhaps  four  feet  of 
height,  carved  in  the  somewhat  airy  character  of  a 
ballet  dancer.  Instead  of  a  dance,  however,  the 
lady  contented  herself  with  an  exhibition  of  Indian 
Club  swinging — one  in  each  pine  palm;  the 
breeze  offering  the  whirling  impulse — in  the  exe 
cution  wherof  she  poised  herself  with  one  foot  on 
a  wooden  ball  not  unlike  the  arrowing  bronze 

196 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

Diana  of  Madison  Square.  This  figure,  twirling 
clubs,  as  a  mere  windmill  would  have  been  amaz 
ing  enough;  but  as  though  this  were  not  suffi 
ciently  wondrous,  at  regular  intervals  our  ballet 
dancer  shifted  her  feet  on  the  ball,  replacing  the 
right  with  the  left  and  again  the  left  with  the 
right  in  measured  alternation.  The  miracle  of  it 
held  me  transfixed. 

The  host  came  fatly  to  his  front  stoop  and 
smiled  upon  my  wide-eyed  interest. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  was  carved  with  a  jack-knife,"  replied 
mine  host,  "  by  a  party  called  '  Casino  Joe.'  It 
took  him  'most  a  year;  he  got  it  mounted  and 
goin'  jest  before  he  died." 

For  long  I  had  lost  trace  of  Casino  Joe ;  it  was 
now  at  this  change  house  I  blundered  on  the 
news  how  my  old  gambling  friend  of  the  Bowery 
came  with  his  consumption  and  some  eight 
thousand  dollars — enough  to  end  one's  life  with— 
and  made  this  place  home  until  his  death.  His 
grave  lay  across  a  field  in  the  little  rural  burying 
ground  where  he  had  played  when  a  boy,  for 
Casino  Joe  was  native  of  these  parts. 

There  were  no  cheatings  or  tricky  illicitisms 
hidden  in  Joe's  supremacies  of  casino.  They 
were  works  of  a  wax-like  memory  which  kept  the 
story  of  the  cards  as  one  makes  entries  in  a 
ledger.  When  the  last  hands  were  out  between 
Joe  and  an  adversary,  a  glance  at  his  mental  en- 

197 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

tries  of  cards  already  played,  and  another  at  his 
own  hand,  unerringly  informed  him  of  what  cards 
his  opponent  held.  This  he  called  "  Telling  the 
last  four." 

It  was  as  an  advantage  more  than  enough  to 
enable  Joe  to  win;  and  while  I  lived  in  his  com 
pany,  I  never  knew  him  to  be  out  of  pocket  by 
that  divertisement.  The  marvel  was  that  he 
could  keep  accurate  track  of  fifty-two  cards  as 
they  fell  one  after  the  other  into  play,  and  do  these 
feats  of  memory  in  noise-ridden  bar-rooms  and 
amid  a  swirl  of  conversation  in  which  he  more  or 
less  bore  part. 

Those  quick  folk  of  the  fraternity  whom  he 
encountered  and  who  from  time  to  time  lost 
money  to  Casino  Joe,  never  once  suspected  his 
victories  to  be  a  result  of  mere  memory.  They 
held  that  some  cheat  took  place.  But  as  it  was 
not  detectable  and  no  man  might  point  it  out, 
no  word  of  fault  was  uttered.  Joe  took  the 
money  and  never  a  protest;  for  it  is  as  much  an 
axiom  of  the  gaming  table  as  it  is  of  the  law  that 
"  Fraud  must  be  proved  and  will  never  be  pre 
sumed  or  inferred."  With  no  evidence,  there 
fore,  the  losing  gamblers  made  no  protesting 
charge,  and  Joe  went  forward  collecting  the 
wealth  of  any  and  all  who  fought  with  him  at  his 
favorite  science. 

Casino  Joe,  as  I  have  said,  accounted  for  his 


198 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

mastery  at  casino  by  his  power  to  "  Tell  the  last 
four,"  and  laid  it  all  to  memory. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Joe  one  evening  as  I  urged 
him  to  impart  to  me  his  secret  more  in  detail,  "  it 
may  depend  on  something  else.  As  I've  told 
you,  it's  my  gift.  Folk  have  their  gifts.  Once 
when  I  was  in  the  town  of  Warrensburg  in  West 
ern  Missouri,  I  was  shown  a  man  who  had  gifts  for 
mathematics  that  were  unaccountable.  He  was 
a  coarse,  animalish  creature,  this  mathema 
tician;  a  half  idiot  and  utterly  without  edu 
cation.  A  sullen,  unclean  beast  of  a  being,  he 
shuffled  about  in  a  queer,  plantigrade  fashion  like 
a  bear.  He  was  ill-natured,  yet  too  timid  to  do 
harm ;  and  besides  a  genius  for  figures,  his  dis 
tinguishing  characteristics  were  hunger  measured 
by  four  men's  rations  and  an  appetite  for  whiskey 
which  to  call  swinish  would  be  marking  a  weak 
ness  on  one's  own  part  in  the  art  of  simile.  Yet 
this  witless  creature,  unable  to  read  his  own 
printed  name,  knew  as  by  an  instinct  every 
mathematical  or  geometrical  term.  You  might 
propose  nothing  as  a  problem  that  he  would  not 
instantly  solve.  He  could  tell  you  like  winking, 
the  area  of  a  seven  or  eight-angled  figure  so  you 
but  gave  him  the  dimensions ;  he  would  announce 
the  surface  measurements  of  a  sphere  when  told 
either  its  diameter  or  circumference.  Once,  as  a 
poser,  a  learned  teacher  proposed  a  supposititious 
cone  seven  feet  in  altitude  and  with  a  diameter 

199 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

of  three  feet  at  the  base,  and  asked  at  what 
distance  from  the  apex  it  should  be  divided  to 
make  both  parts  equal  of  bulk  and  weight.  The 
gross,  growling  being  made  correct,  unhesitating 
reply.  This  monster  of  mathematics  seemed  also 
to  carry  a  chronometer  in  his  stomach,  for  day  or 
night,  he  could  and  would — for  a  drink  of  rum — 
tell  you  the  hour  to  any  splinter  of  a  second. 
You  might  set  your  watch  by  him  as  if  he  were 
the  steeple  clock.  I  don't  profess,"  concluded 
Casino  Joe,  "  to  either  the  habits  or  the  imbecility 
of  this  genius  of  figures,  yet  it  may  well  be  that 
my  abilities  to  keep  track  of  fifty-two  Cards  as 
they  appear  in  play  and  know  at  every  moment — 
as  a  bookkeeper  does  a  balance — what  cards  are 
yet  to  come,  are  not  of  cultivation  or  acquire 
ment,  but  were  extant  within  me  at  my  birth." 

When  Casino  Joe  appeared  in  the  Bowery  he 
came  to  gamble  at  cards.  That  buzzing  thor 
oughfare  was  then  the  promenade  of  the  watchful 
brotherhood  of  chance.  In  that  hour,  too,  it 
stood  more  the  fashion — for  there  are  fashions  in 
gambling  as  in  everything  else — to  win  and  lose 
money  at  short-cards,  and  casino  enjoyed  par 
ticular  vogue.  There  were  scores  of  eminent 
practitioners  about  New  York,  and  Joe  had  little 
trouble  in  securing  recognition.  Indeed,  he 
might  have  played  the  full  twenty-four  hours  of 
every  day  could  he  have  held  up  his  head  to  such 
labors. 

200 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

There  was  at  the  advent  of  our  rural  Joe  into 
metropolitan  circles  none  more  alert  or  breathless 
for  pastmastery  in  unholy  speculation  than  my 
self.  About  twenty-one  should  have  been  my 
years,  and  I  carried  that  bubbling  spirit  for  suc 
cess  common  to  the  youth  of  every  walk.  Ant 
Ccesar  ant  nulhis!  was  my  warcry,  and  I  did  not 
consider  Joe  and  his  career  for  long  before  I  was 
slave  to  the  one  hope  of  finally  gaining  his  secret. 
One  might  found  fortune  on  it;  like  the  philoso 
pher's  stone  it  turned  everything  to  gold. 

With  those  others  who  fell  before  Joe  I  also 
believed  his  success  to  be  offspring  of  some  cheat. 
And  while  the  rustic  Joe  was  engaged  against 
some  fellow  immoralist,  I've  sat  and  watched  for 
hours  upon  end  to  discover  what  winding  thing 
Joe  did.  There  was  no  villainy  of  double  dealing 
or  chicane  of  cut-shifting  or  of  marked  cards  at 
which  I  was  not  adept.  And  what  I  could  so 
darkly  perform  I  was  equally  quick  to  discover 
when  another  attempted  it.  But,  albeit  I  eyed 
poor  Joe  with  a  cat's  vigilance — a  vigilance  to 
have  saved  the  life  of  Argus  had  he  but  emulated 
it  with  his  hundred  eyes — I  noted  nothing.  And 
the  reason  was  a  simple  one.  There  was  literally 
nothing  to  discover;  Joe  played  honestly  enough; 
his  advantage  dwelt  in  his  memory  and  that  lay 
hidden  within  his  head. 

Despairing  of  a  discovery  by  dint  of  watching, 
I  made  friendly  overtures  to  Joe,  hoping  to 

201 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

wheedle  a  secret  which  I  could  not  surprise.  My 
proffers  of  comradship  were  met  more  than  half 
way.  Joe  was  a  kindly  though  a  lonely  soul  and 
had  few  friends ;  his  queer  garb  of  the  cowpas- 
tures  together  with  his  unfailing  domination  at 
casino  kept  others  of  the  fraternity  at  a  distance. 
Also  I  had  been  much  educated  of  books  by 
Father  Glennon,  and  put  in  my  spare  time  with 
reading.  As  Joe  himself  had  dived  somewhat 
into  books,  we  were  doubly  drawn  to  each  other. 
Hours  have  we  sat  together  in  Joe's  nobly  fur 
nished  rooms — for  he  lived  well  if  he  did  not  dress 
well — and  overhauled  for  our  mutual  amusement 
the  literature  of  the  centuries  back  to  Chaucer 
and  his  Tabard  Inn. 

At  this  time  Joe  was  already  in  the  coils  of 
that  consumption  whereof  at  last  he  died.  And 
what  with  a  racking  cough  and  an  inability  to 
breathe  while  lying  down,  Joe  seldom  slept  in  a 
bed.  The  best  he  might  do  was  to  gain  what 
snatches  of  slumber  he  could  while  propped  in  an 
arm-chair.  It  thus  befell  that  at  his  suggestion 
and  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  at  his  generous  ex 
pense,  I  came  finally  to  room  with  Joe.  Some 
body  should  utilize  the  bed.  Being  young  and 
sound  of  nerves,  his  restless  night-roamings 
about  the  floors  disturbed  not  me ;  I  slept  serenely 
through  as  I  doubtless  would  through  the  crack 
of  doom  had  such  calamity  surprised  us  at  that 


202 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

time,  and  Joe  and  I  prospered  bravely  in  com 
pany. 

Beseech  and  plead  as  I  might,  however,  Joe 
would  not  impart  to  me  that  hidden  casino 
strength  beyond  his  word  that  no  fraud  was  prac 
ticed — a  fact  whereof  my  watchings  had  made  me 
sure — and  curtly  describing  it  as  an  ability  to 
"  Tell  the  last  four." 

While  Joe  housed  me  as  his  guest  for  many 
months  and  paid  the  bills,  one  is  not  to  argue 
therefrom  any  unhappy  pauperism  on  my  boyish 
part.  In  good  sooth !  I  was  more  than  rich 
during  those  days,  with  a  fortune  of  anywhere 
from  five  hundred  to  as  many  as  four  thousand 
dollars.  Like  all  disciples  of  chance  I  had  these 
riches  ever  ready  in  my  pocket  for  what  prey 
might  offer. 

It  was  now  and  then  well  for  Joe  that  I  went 
thus  provided.  That  badly  garbed  squire  of 
good  dame  Fortune,  who  failed  not  of  a  profit  at 
casino,  had  withal  an  overpowering  taste  to  play 
faro;  and  as  if  by  some  law  of  compensation  and 
to  preserve  an  equilibrium,  he  would  seem  to  sit 
down  to  a  faro  layout  only  to  lose. 

Time  and  again  he  came  to  his  rooms  stripped 
of  the  last  dollar.  On  these  harrowing  occasions 
Joe  would  borrow  a  round-number  stake  from 
me  and  so  return  to  the  legitimate  sure  harvests 
of  casino,  vowing  never  to  lose  himself  and  his 
money  in  any  quicksands  of  farobank  again. 

203 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  these  anti-faro  vows 
were  never  kept;  once  firm  on  his  feet  by  virtue 
of  casino  renewed,  it  was  not  over  long  ere  he 
"  tried  it  just  once  more,"  to  lose  again.  These 
faro  bankruptcies  would  overtake  Joe  about  once 
a  month. 

One  day  I  made  a  mild  plot ;  I  had  foregone  all 
hope  of  coaxing  Joe's  secret  from  him ;  now  I 
resolved  to  bring  against  him  the  pressure  of  a 
small  intrigue.  I  lay  in  ambush  for  Joe,  waylaid 
him  as  it  were  in  the  weak  hour  of  his  destitution 
and  ravished  from  him  at  the  point  of  his  necessi 
ties  that  which  I  could  come  by  in  no  other  way. 

It  was  following  a  disastrous  night  at  faro  when 
Joe  appeared  without  so  much  silver  in  his  pock 
ets  as  might  serve  to  keep  the  fiends  from  dancing 
there.  Having  related  his  losses  he  asked  for  the 
usual  five  hundred  wherewith  to  re-enter  the  sure 
lists  of  casino  and  begin  the  combat  anew. 

To  his  sore  amazement  and  chagrin — and  some 
what  to  his  alarm,  for  at  first  he  thought  me  as 
poor  as  himself  from  my  refusal — I  shook  my 
sage  young  head. 

"  Haven't  you  got  it  ?  "  asked  Joe  anxiously. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "I've  got  it;  and  it's 
yours  on  one  condition.  Teach  me  how  to  '  Tell 
the  last  four/  and  you  may  have  five  hundred  and 
five  hundred  with  it." 

Then  I  pointed  out  to  Joe  his  mean  unfairness 
in  not  equipping  me  with  this  resistless  knowl- 

204 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

edge.  Save  for  that  one  pregnant  secret  I  was 
as  perfect  at  casino  as  any  sharper  on  the  Bowery. 
Likewise,  were  the  situation  reversed,  I'd  be 
quick  to  instruct  him.  I'd  lend  no  more;  there 
would  come  no  further  five  hundred  save  as  the 
price  of  that  touchstone — the  golden  secret  of 
how  to  "Tell  the  last  four."  This  I  set  forth 
jealously. 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Joe,  "  I'll  do  my  best  to 
teach  you.  But  it  will  cost  a  deal  of  work. 
You'll  have  to  put  in  hours  of  practice  and  curry 
and  groom  and  train  your  memory  as  if  it  were 
a  horse  for  a  great  race.  I  tell  you  the  more 
readily — for  I  could  elsewhere  easily  get  the  five 
hundred  and  for  that  matter  five  thousand  other 
dollars  to  keep  it  company — since  I  believe  I've 
not  many  months  to  live  at  best" — here,  as  if  in 
confirmation,  a  gust  of  coughing  shook  him — 
"  and  this  secret  shall  be  your  legacy." 

With  these  words,  Joe  got  a  deck  of  cards  and 
began  a  game  of  casino  with  me  as  an  adversary. 
Slowly  playing  the  cards,  he  explained  and  strove 
to  illustrate  those  mental  methods  by  which  he 
kept  account  and  tabbed  them  as  they  were 
played.  If  I  could  lay  bare  this  system  here  I 
would;  but  its  very  elaboration  forbids.  It  was 
as  though  Joe  owned  a  blackboard  in  his  head 
with  the  fifty-two  cards  told  off  by  numbers  in 
column,  and  from  which  he  erased  a  card  the 
moment  it  appeared  in  play.  By  processes  of 

205 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

elimination,  he  came  finally  to  "  Tell  the  last 
four,"  and  as  the  last  hands  were  dealt  knew  those 
held  by  his  opposite  as  much  as  ever  he  knew  his 
own.  This  advantage,  with  even  luck  and  per 
fect  skill  made  him  not  to  be  conquered. 

It  took  many  sittings  with  many  lessons  many 
hours  long;  but  in  time  because  of  my  young 
faculties — not  too  much  cumbered  of  those  thou 
sand  and  one  concerns  to  come  with  years  and 
clamor  for  remembrance — I  grew  as  perfect  as 
Joe. 

And  it  was  well  I  learned  the  secret  when  I  did. 
Soon  after,  I  became  separated  from  Joe;  I  went 
southward  to  New  Orleans  and  when  I  was  next 
to  New  York  Joe  had  disappeared.  Nor  could  I 
find  trace  or  sign  of  his  whereabouts.  He  went 
in  truth  to  his  old  village,  and  my  earliest  informa 
tion  thereof  came  only  when  the  tavern  host  told 
the  origin  of  the  club-swinging  ballet  dancer  then 
toeing  it  so  gallantly  on  his  gables. 

But  while  I  parted  with  my  friend,  I  never  for 
got  him.  The  knowledge  he  gave  double-armed 
me  at  the  game.  It  became  the  reason  of  often 
riches  in  my  hands,  and  was  ever  a  resort  when  I 
erred  over  horse  races  or  was  beaten  down  by 
some  storm  of  faro.  Then  it  was  profitably 
I  recalled  Casino  Joe  and  his  instructions ;  and  his 
invincible  secret  of  "  How  to  tell  the  last  four." 


206 


HOW  TO  TELL  THE  LAST  FOUR. 

"  Is  it  not  strange,"  said  the  Jolly  Doctor,  when 
the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  had  finished,  "  that  I 
who  never  cared  to  gamble,  should  listen  with 
delight  to  a  story  of  gamblers  and  gambling? 
But  so  it  is;  I've  heard  scores  such  in  my  time 
and  always  with  utmost  zest.  I'll  even  tell  one 
myself — as  it  was  told  me — when  it  again  be 
comes  my  duty  to  furnish  this  good  company 
entertainment.  Meanwhile,  unless  my  memory 
fails,  it  should  be  the  task  of  our  descendant 
of  Hiawatha " — here  the  Jolly  Doctor  turned 
smilingly  to  Sioux  Sam — "  to  take  up  the  burden 
of  the  evening." 

The  Old  Cattleman,  joining  with  the  Jolly  Doc 
tor  in  the  suggestion,  and  Sioux  Sam  being  in  no 
wise  loth  to  be  heard,  our  half-savage  friend 
related  "  How  Moh-Kwa  Fed  the  Catfish." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

HOW  MOH-KWA  FED  THE  CATFISH. 

One  day  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  had  a 
quarrel  with  Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire.  Moh-Kwa 
was  gone  from  home  two  clays,  for  Moh-Kwa  had 
found  a  large  patch  of  ripe  blackberries,  an'  he 
said  it  was  prudent  to  stay  an'  eat  them  all  up 
lest  some  other  man  find  them.  So  Moh-Kwa 
stayed;  an'  though  he  ate  very  hard  the  whole 
time  an'  never  slept,  so  many  an'  fat  were  the 
blackberries,  it  took  two  suns  to  eat  them. 

When  Moh-Kwa  came  into  his  cavern,  he 
found  Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire,  grown  small  an'  hot 
an'  angry,  for  he  had  not  been  fed  for  two  days. 
Moh-Kwa  gave  the  Fire  a  bundle  of  dry  wood  to 
eat,  an'  when  the  Fire's  stomach  was  full  an'  he 
had  grown  big  an'  bright  with  plenty,  he  sat  up 
on  his  bed  of  coals  an'  found  fault  with  Moh-Kwa 
for  his  neglect. 

"  An'  should  you  neglect  me  again  for  two 
days,"  said  the  Fire,  "  I  will  know  I  am  not 
wanted  an'  shall  go  away." 

Moh-Kwa  was  much  tired  with  no  sleep,  so  he 
answered  Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire,  sharply. 

208 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

"  You  are  always  hungry,"  said  Moh-Kwa ; 
"  also  you  are  hard  to  suit.  If  I  give  you  green 
wood,  you  will  not  eat  it;  if  the  wood  be  wet, 
you  turn  away.  Nothing  but  old  dry  wood  will 
you  accept.  Beggars  like  you  should  not  own 
such  fine  tastes.  An'  do  you  think,  Fire,  that  I 
who  have  much  to  do  an'  say  an'  many  places  to 
go — I,  Moh-Kwa,  who  am  as  busy  as  the  bees  in 
the  Moon  of  Blossoms,  have  time  to  stay  ever  by 
your  side  to  pass  you  new  dry  wood  to  eat  ?  Go 
to;  you  are  more  trouble  that  a  papoose!  " 

Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire,  did  not  say  anything  to 
this,  for  the  Fire's  feelings  were  hurt;  an'  Moh- 
Kwa  who  was  heavy  with  his  labors  over  the 
blackberries  lay  down  an'  took  a  big  sleep. 

When  Moh-Kwa  awoke,  he  sat  blinking  in  the 
darkness  of  his  cavern,  for  Ish-koo-dah,  while 
Moh-Kwa  slept,  had  gone  out  an'  left  night  be 
hind. 

For  five  days  Moh-Kwa  had  no  fire  an'  it  gave 
him  a  bad  heart ;  for  while  Moh-Kwa  could  eat  his 
food  raw  an'  never  cared  for  that,  he  could  not 
smoke  his  kinnikinick  unless  Ish-koo-dah,  the 
Fire,  was  there  to  light  his  pipe  for  him. 

For  five  days  Moh-Kwa  smoked  no  kinni 
kinick;  an'  Moh-Kwa  got  angry  because  of  it 
an'  roared  an'  shouted  up  an'  down  the  canyons, 
an'  to  show  he  did  not  care,  Moh-Kwa  smashed 
his  redstone  pipe  on  a  rock.  But  in  his  stomach 
Moh-Kwa  cared,  an'  would  have  traded  Ish-koo- 
i*  209 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

dah,  the  Fire,  four  armsful  of  dry  cedar  just  to 
have  him  light  his  kinnikinick  but  once.  But  Ish- 
koo-dah,  the  Fire,  was  gone  out  an'  would  not 
come  back. 

Openhand,  the  good  Sioux  an'  great  hunter, 
heard  Moh-Kwa  roaring  for  his  kinnikinick.  An' 
Openhand  told  him  he  behaved  badly,  like  a 
young  squaw  who  wants  new  feathers  an'  cannot 
get  them.  Then  Openhand  gave  Moh-Kwa  an 
other  pine,  an'  brought  the  Fire  from  his  own 
lodge;  an'  again  Moh-Kwa's  cavern  blazed  with 
Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire,  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
an'  Moh-Kwa  smoked  his  kinnikinick.  An'  Moh- 
Kwa's  heart  felt  good  an'  soft  an'  pleasant  like 
the  sunset  in  the  Moon  of  Fruit.  Also,  he  gave 
Ish-koo-dah  plenty  of  wood  to  eat  an'  never 
scolded  him  for  being  always  hungry. 

All  the  Sioux  loved  Openhand;  for  no  one 
went  by  his  lodge  empty  but  Openhand  gave  him 
a  piece  of  buffalo  meat;  an'  if  a  Sioux  was  cold, 
he  put  a  blanket  about  his  shoulders.  An*  for 
this  he  was  named  "  Openhand,"  an'  the  Sioux 
were  never  tired  of  talking  good  talk  of  Open- 
hand,  an'  the  noise  of  his  praises  never  died  out. 

Coldheart  hated  Openhand  because  he  was  so 
much  loved.  Coldheart  was  himself  sulky  an' 
hard,  an'  his  hand  was  shut  tight  like  a  beaver- 
trap  that  is  sprung,  an'  it  would  not  open  to  give 
anything  away.  Those  who  came  hungry  went 
hungry  for  all  of  Coldheart ;  an'  if  they  were  cold, 

210 


THE  OPEN  HAND. 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

they  were  cold.  Coldheart  wrapped  his  robes  the 
closer,  an'  was  the  warmest  whenever  he  thought 
the  frost-wolf  was  gnawing  others. 

"I  do  not  rule  the  ice,"  said  Coldheart; 
"  hunger  does  not  come  or  go  on  its  war-trail  by 
my  orders.  An'  if  the  Sioux  freeze  or  starve,  an' 
Pau-guk,  the  Death,  walks  among  the  lodges,  it 
is  because  the  time  is  Pau-guk's  an'  I  cannot 
help  it." 

So  Coldheart  kept  his  blankets  an'  his  buffalo 
meat  for  himself  an'  his  son,  the  Blackbird,  an' 
gave  nothing  away.  An'  for  these  things,  Cold- 
heart  was  hated  while  Openhand  was  praised ;  an' 
the  breast  of  Coldheart  was  so  eaten  with  his 
wrath  against  Openhand  that  it  seemed  as  though 
Ish-koo-dah,  the  Fire,  had  gone  into  Coldheart's 
bosom  an'  made  a  camp. 

Coldheart  would  have  called  Pau-guk  to  his 
elbow  an'  killed  Openhand;  but  Coldheart  was 
not  sure.  The  Openhand  moved  as  quick  as  a 
fish  in  the  Yellowstone,  an'  stood  as  tall  an' 
strong  as  the  big  pine  on  the  hill ;  there  were  no 
three  warriors,,  the  bravest  of  the  Sioux,  who 
could  have  gone  on  the  trail  of  Openhand  an' 
shown  his  skelp  on  their  return,  for  Openhand 
was  a  mighty  fighter  an'  had  a  big  heart,  so  that 
even  Fear  himself  was  afraid  of  Openhand  an' 
never  dared  come  where  he  was. 

Coldheart  knew  well  that  he  could  not  fight 
with  Openhand;  for  to  find  this  out,  he  made  his 

211 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

strongest  medicine  an'  called  Jee-bi,  the  Spirit; 
an'  Jee-bi  talked  with  Pau-guk,  the  Death,  an' 
asked  Pau-guk  if  Coldheart  went  on  the  trail  of 
Openhand  to  take  his  skelp,  which  one  Pau-guk 
would  have  at  the  trail's  end.  An'  Pau-guk  said 
he  would  have  Coldheart,  for  Openhand  would 
surely  kill  him.  When  Jee-bi,  the  Spirit,  told 
Coldheart  the  word  of  Pau-guk,  Coldheart  saw 
then  that  he  must  go  a  new  trail  with  his  hate. 

Coldheart  smoked  an'  smoked  many  pipes ;  but 
the  thoughts  of  Openhand  an'  how  he  was  loved 
by  the  Sioux  made  his  kinnikinick  bitter.  Still 
Coldheart  smoked;  an'  at  last  the  thought  came 
that  if  he  could  not  kill  Openhand,  he  would  kill 
the  Young  Wolf,  who  wras  Openhand's  son. 
When  this  thought  folded  its  wings  an'  perched  in 
the  breast  of  Coldheart,  he  called  for  the  evil 
Lynx,  who  was  Coldheart's  friend,  an'  since  he 
was  the  wickedest  of  the  Sioux,  would  do  what 
Coldheart  said. 

The  Lynx  came  an'  sat  with  Coldheart  in  his 
lodge ;  an'  the  lodge  was  closed  tight  so  that  none 
might  listen,  an'  because  it  was  cold.  The  Cold- 
heart  told  the  Lynx  to  go  with  his  war-axe  when 
the  next  sun  was  up  an'  beat  out  the  brains  of  the 
Young  Wolf. 

"  An'  when  he  is  dead,"  said  Coldheart,  "  you 
must  bring  me  the  Young  Wolf's  heart  to  eat. 
Then  I  will  have  my  revenge  on  Openhand,  his 
father,  whom  I  hate;  an'  whenever  I  meet  the 

212 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

Openhand  I  will  laugh  with  the  thought  that  I 
have  eaten  his  son's  heart." 

But  there  was  one  who  listened  to  Coldheart 
while  he  gave  his  orders  to  the  evil  Lynx, 
although  she  was  no  Sioux.  This  was  the  Widow 
of  the  Great  Rattlesnake  of  the  Rocks  who  had 
long  before  been  slain  by  Yellow  Face,  his 
brother  medicine.  The  Widow  having  hunted 
long  an'  hard  had  crawled  into  the  lodge  of  Cold- 
heart  to  warm  herself  while  she  rested.  An'  as 
she  slept  beneath  a  buffalo  robe,  the  noise  of 
Coldheart  talking  to  the  evil  Lynx  woke  the 
Widow  up ;  an'  so  she  sat  up  under  her  buffalo 
robe  an'  heard  every  word,  for  a  squaw  is  always 
curious  an'  would  sooner  hear  new  talk  than  find 
a  string  of  beads. 

That  night  as  Moh-Kwa  smoked  by  Ish-koo- 
dah,  the  Fire,  an'  fed  him  dry  sticks  so  he  would 
not  leave  him  again,  the  Widow  came  an'  warmed 
herself  by  Moh-Kwa's  side.  An'  Moh-Kwa 
asked  the  Widow  how  she  fared;  an'  the  Widow 
while  hungry  said  she  was  well,  only  that  her 
heart  was  made  heavy  by  the  words  of  Coldheart. 
Then  the  Widow  told  Moh-Kwa  what  Coldheart 
had  asked  the  evil  Lynx  to  do,  an'  how  for  his 
revenge  against  Openhand  he  would  eat  the 
Young  Wolf's  heart. 

Moh-Kwa  listened  to  the  Widow  with  his  head 
on  one  side,  for  he  would  not  lose  a  word ;  an* 
when  she  had  done,  Moh-Kwa  was  so  pleased 

213 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

that  he  put  down  his  pipe  an'  went  to  a  nest  which 
the  owls  had  built  on  the  side  of  the  cavern  an' 
took  down  a  young  owl  an'  gave  it  to  the  Widow 
to  eat.  An'  the  Widow  thanked  Moh-Kwa  an' 
swallowed  the  little  owl,  while  the  old  owl  flew 
all  about  the  cavern  telling  the  other  owls  what 
Moh-Kwa  had  done.  The  owls  were  angry  an' 
shouted  at  Moh-Kwa. 

"  The  Catfish  people  said  you  were  a  Pawnee ! 
But  you  are  worse;  you  are  a  Shoshone,  Moh- 
Kwa  ;  yes,  you  are  a  Siwash !  Bird-robber,  little 
owl-killer,  you  an'  your  Rattlesnake  Widow  are 
both  Siwashes !  " 

But  Moh-Kwa  paid  no  heed;  he  did  not  like 
the  owls,  for  they  stole  his  meat;  an'  when  he 
would  sleep,  a  company  of  the  older  owls  would 
get  together  an'  hold  a  big  talk  that  was  like 
thunder  in  Moh-Kwa's  cavern  an'  kept  him  awake. 
Moh-Kwa  said  at  last  that  if  the  owls  called  the 
Widow  who  was  his  guest  a  Siwash  again,  he 
would  give  her  two  more  baby  owls.  With  that 
the  old  owls  perched  on  their  points  of  rocks  an' 
were  silent,  for  they  feared  Moh-Kwa  an'  knew 
he  was  not  their  friend. 

When  the  Widow  had  eaten  her  little  owl,  she 
curled  up  to  sleep  two  weeks,  for  such  was  the 
Widow's  habit  when  she  had  eaten  enough.  An' 
as  she  snored  pleasantly,  feathers  an'  owl-down 
were  blown  out  through  her  nose,  but  the  young 
owl  was  gone  forever. 

214 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

Moh-Kwa  left  the  Widow  sleeping  an'  went 
down  the  canyon  in  the  morning  to  meet  the  evil 
Lynx  where  he  knew  he  would  pass  close  by  the 
bank  of  the  Yellowstone.  An'  when  Moh-Kwa 
saw  the  evil  Lynx  creeping  along  with  his  war- 
axe  in  his  hand  on  the  trail  of  the  Young  Wolf's 
heart,  he  gave  a  great  shout :  "  Ah !  Lynx,  I've 
got  you !  "  An'  then  he  started  for  the  Lynx  with 
his  paws  spread.  For  Moh-Kwa  loved  the  Open- 
hand,  who  brought  back  to  him  Ish-koo-dah,  the 
Fire,  when  he  had  gone  out  of  Moh-Kwa's  cavern 
an'  would  not  return. 

But  Moh-Kwa  did  not  reach  the  Lynx,  for  up 
a  tree  swarmed  the  Lynx  out  of  Moh-Kwa's 
reach. 

When  Moh-Kwa  saw  the  evil  Lynx  hugging 
close  to  the  tree,  the  new  thought  made  Moh- 
Kwa  laugh.  An'  with  that  he  reached  up  with 
his  great  arms  an'  began  to  bend  down  the  tree 
like  a  whip.  When  Moh-Kwa  had  bent  the  tree 
enough,  he  let  it  go  free;  an'  the  tree  sprang 
straight  like  an  osage-orange  bow.  It  was  so 
swift  an'  like  a  whip  that  the  Lynx  could  not  hold 
on,  but  went  whirling  out  over  the  river  like  a 
wild  duck  when  its  wing  is  broken  by  an  arrow; 
an'  then  the  Lynx  splashed  into  the  Yellowstone. 

When  the  Lynx  struck  splashing  into  the  Yel 
lowstone,  all  the  Catfish  people  rushed  for  him 
with  the  Big  Chief  of  the  Catfish  at  their  head. 
Also,  Ah-meek,  the  Beaver,  was  angry;  for  Ah- 

215 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

meek  was  crossing  the  Yellowstone  with  a  bundle 
of  bulrushes  in  his  mouth  to  help  build  his  winter 
house  on  the  bank,  an'  the  Lynx  struck  so  near 
to  Ah-meek  that  the  waves  washed  his  face  an' 
whiskers,  an'  he  was  startled  an'  lost  the  bulrushes 
out  of  his  mouth  an'  they  were  washed  away. 

Ah-meek  who  was  angry,  an'  the  Catfish  people 
who  were  hungry,  charged  on  the  Lynx;  but  the 
Lynx  was  not  far  enough  from  the  shore  for  them, 
an'  while  the  Catfish  people  pinched  him  an'  Ah- 
meek,  the  Beaver,  clawed  him,  the  Lynx  crawled 
out  on  the  bank  an'  was  safe. 

But  Moh-Kwa  met  the  Lynx  when  he  crawled 
out  of  the  Yellowstone  looking  like  Dah-hin-dah, 
the  Bull-frog,  an'  Moh-Kwa  picked  him  up  with 
his  paws  to  throw  him  back. 

But  a  second  new  thought  came ;  an'  although 
the  Catfish  people  screamed  at  him  an'  Ah-meek 
who  had  lost  his  bulrushes  was  black  with  anger, 
Moh-Kwa  did  not  throw  the  Lynx  back  into  the 
river  but  stood  him  on  his  feet  an'  told  him  what 
to  do.  An'  when  Moh-Kwa  gave  him  the  orders, 
the  Lynx  promised  to  obey. 

Moh-Kwa  killed  a  fawn ;  an'  the  Lynx  took  its 
heart  in  his  hand  an'  went  with  it  to  Coldheart 
an'  said  it  was  the  heart  of  Young  Wolf.  An' 
Coldheart  roasted  it  an'  ate  it,  thinking  it  was 
Young  Wolf's  heart. 

For  a  day  was  the  Coldheart  glad,  for  he  felt 
strong  an'  warm  with  the  thought  that  now  he 

216 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

was  revenged  against  Openhand;  an'  Coldheart 
longed  to  tell  Openhand  that  he  had  eaten  his 
son's  heart.  But  Coldheart  was  too  wise  to  make 
this  boast;  he  knew  that  Openhand  whether  with 
knife  or  lance  or  arrow  would  give  him  at  once 
to  Pau-guk,  an'  that  would  end  his  revenge. 

Still  Coldheart  thought  he  would  go  to  Open- 
hand's  lodge  an'  feed  his  eyes  an'  ears  with  Open- 
hand's  groans  an'  mournings  when  now  his  son, 
the  Young  Wolf,  was  gone.  But  when  Coldheart 
came  to  the  lodge  of  Openhand,  he  was  made  sore 
to  meet  the  Young  Wolf  who  was  starting  forth 
to  hunt.  Coldheart  spoke  with  the  Young  Wolf 
to  make  sure  he  had  been  cheated;  an'  then  he 
went  back  to  kill  the  Lynx. 

But  Coldheart  was  too  late;  the  Lynx  had  not 
waited;  now  he  was  gone  with  his  squaws  an'  his 
ponies  an'  his  blankets  to  become  a  Pawnee.  The 
Lynx  was  tired  of  being  a  Sioux. 

When  the  Widow's  sleep  was  out,  Moh-Kwa 
sent  her  to  hide  in  the  lodge  of  Coldheart  to  hear 
what  next  he  would  plan.  The  Widow  went  glad 
ly,  for  Moh-Kwa  promised  four  more  small  young 
owls  just  out  of  the  egg.  The  Widow  lay  under 
the  buffalo  robe  an'  heard  the  words  of  Coldheart. 
In  a  week,  she  came  back  to  Moh-Kwa  an'  told 
him  what  Coldheart  planned. 

Coldheart  had  sent  twenty  ponies  to  the  Black- 
foot  chief,  Dull  Knife,  where  he  lived  on  the  banks 


217 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

of  the  Little  Bighorn.     Also,  Coldheart  sent  these 
words  in  the  mouth  of  his  runner : 

"  My  son  and  the  son  of  my  enemy  will  come 
to  your  camp  in  one  moon.  You  will  marry  the 
Rosebud,  your  daughter,  to  my  son,  while  the 
son  of  my  enemy  you  will  tie  an'  give  to  your 
young  men  to  shoot  at  with  their  arrows  until  he 
be  dead,  an'  afterward  until  they  have  had  enough 
sport.  My  son  will  bring  you  a  white  arrow ;  the 
son  of  my  enemy  will  bring  you  a  black  arrow." 

Moh-Kwa  laughed  when  he  heard  this  from  the 
Widow's  lips ;  an'  because  she  had  been  faithful, 
Moh-Kwa  gave  her  the  four  small  owls  just  from 
the  egg.  An'  the  older  owls  took  it  quietly  an' 
only  whispered  their  anger;  for  Moh-Kwa  said 
that  if  they  screamed  an'  shouted  when  now  he 
must  sit  an'  think  until  his  head  ached,  he  would 
knock  down  every  nest. 

When  his  plan  was  ripe,  Coldheart  put  on  a 
good  face  an'  went  to  the  lodge  of  Openhand  an' 
gave  him  a  red  blanket  an'  said  he  was  Openhand's 
friend.  An'  Openhand  an'  all  the  Sioux  said  this 
must  be  true  talk  because  of  the  red  blanket;  for 
Coldheart  was  never  known  to  give  anything  away 
before. 

Openhand  an'  Coldheart  sat.  down  an'  smoked ; 
for  Moh-Kwa  had  never  told  how  Coldheart  had 
sent  the  Lynx  for  the  Young  Wolf's  heart.  Moh- 
Kwa  never  told  tales;  moreover  Moh-Kwa  had 
also  his  own  plans  as  well  as  Coldheart. 

218 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

When  Openhand  an'  Coldheart  came  to  part, 
an'  Coldheart  was  to  go  again  to  his  own  lodge, 
he  asked  that  Openhand  send  his  son,  Young 
Wolf,  with  the  Blackbird  who  would  go  to  wed 
the  young  squaw,  Rosebud,  where  she  dwelt  with 
Dull  Knife,  her  father,  in  their  camp  on  the  Little 
Bighorn.  An'  Openhand  did  not  hesitate,  but 
said,  "  Yes ;"  an'  the  Young  Wolf  himself  was  glad 
to  go,  like  all  boys  who  hope  to  see  new  scenes. 

As  Young  Wolf  an'  the  Blackbird  next  day  rode 
away,  Coldheart  stuck  a  black  arrow  in  the  cow- 
skin  quiver  of  Young  Wolf,  an'  a  white  arrow  in 
that  of  the  Blackbird,  saying: 

"  Give  these  to  the  Dull  Knife  that  he  may 
know  you  are  my  sons  an'  come  from  me,  an' 
treat  you  with  much  love." 

Many  days  the  young  men  traveled  to  reach 
Dull  Knife's  camp  on  the  Little  Bighorn.  In  the 
night  of  their  last  camp,  Moh-Kwa  came  silently, 
an'  while  the  young  men  slept  swapped  Coldheart's 
arrows;  an'  when  they  rode  to  the  lodge  of  Dull 
Knife,  an'  while  the  scowling  Blackfeet  gathered 
about — for  the  sight  of  a  Sioux  gives  a  Blackfoot 
a  hot  heart — the  black  arrow  was  in  the  quiver  of 
the  Blackbird  an'  the  white  arrow  in  that  of  Young 
Wolf. 

"  How !  "  said  the  young  men  to  Dull  Knife. 

"How!  how!"  said  Dull  Knife.  "An'  now, 
my  sons,  where  are  the  arrows  which  are  your 
countersigns?  " 

219 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

When  the  young  men  took  out  the  arrows  they 
saw  that  they  had  been  changed;  but  they  knew 
not  their  message  an'  thought  no  difference  would 
come.  So  they  made  no  talk  since  that  would  lose 
time ;  an'  Young  Wolf  gave  Dull  Knife  the  white 
arrow  while  the  Blackbird  gave  him  the  black 
arrow. 

An'  holding  an  arrow  in  each  hand — one  white, 
one  black — Dull  Knife  said : 

"  For  the  twenty  ponies  which  we  have  got, 
the  Blackfeet  will  carry  forth  the  word  of  Cold- 
heart;  for  the  Blackfeet  keep  their  treaties,  being 
honest  men." 

An'  so  it  turns  that  the  Blackbird  is  shot  full  of 
arrows  until  he  bristles  like  the  quills  on  the  back 
of  Kagh,  the  Hedgepig.  But  Young  Wolf  is  taken 
to  the  Rosebud,  an'  they  are  married.  The  Young 
Wolf  would  have  said :  "  No !  "  for  he  did  not 
understand;  but  Dull  Knife  showed  him  first  a 
war-axe  an'  next  the  Rosebud.  An'  the  Rosebud 
was  more  beautiful  in  the  eye  of  youth  than  any 
war-axe ;  besides  Young  Wolf  was  many  days 
march  from  the  lodge  of  his  father,  Openhand, 
an'  marriage  is  better  than  death.  Thinking  all 
of  which,  the  Young  Wolf  did  not  say  "  no  "  but 
said  "  yes,"  an'  at  the  wedding  there  was  a  great 
feast,  for  the  Dull  Knife  was  a  big  chief  an'  rich. 

Ma-ma,  the  Woodpecker,  stood  on  the  top  of 
a  dead  tree  an'  saw  the  wedding;  an'  when  it  was 


220 


THE  COLD  HEART. 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

over,  he  flew  straight  an'  told  Moh-Kwa  so  that 
Moh-Kwa  might  know. 

When  Young  Wolf  an'  the  Rosebud  on  their 
return  were  a  day's  ride  from  the  Sioux,  Moh- 
Kwa  went  to  the  lodge  of  Coldheart  an'  said: 

"  Come,  great  plotter,  an'  meet  your  son  an' 
his  new  squaw." 

An'  Coldheart  came  because  Moh-Kwa  took 
him  by  his  belts  an'  ran  with  him ;  for  Moh-Kwa 
was  so  big  an'  strong  he  could  run  with  a  pony 
an'  its  rider  in  his  mouth. 

Moh-Kwa  told  Coldheart  how  the  Blackbird 
gave  Dull  Knife  the  black  arrow  an'  was  shot 
with  all  the  arrows  of  five  quivers.  Coldheart 
groaned  like  the  buffalo  when  he  dies.  Then  Moh- 
Kwa  showed  him  where  Young  Wolf  came  on 
with  the  beautiful  Rosebud;  and  that  he  was  fol 
lowed  by  twenty  pack-ponies  which  carried  the 
presents  of  Dull  Knife  for  his  daughter  an'  his 
new  son. 

"  An'  now,"  said  Moh-Kwa,  "  you  have  seen 
enough;  for  you  have  seen  that  you  have  made 
your  foe  happy  an'  killed  your  own  son.  Also,  I 
have  cheated  the  Catfish  people  twice;  once  with 
the  Big  Medicine  Elk  an'  once  with  the  Lynx, 
both  of  whom  I  gave  to  the  Catfish  people  an' 
took  back.  It  is  true,  I  have  cheated  the  good 
Catfish  folk  who  were  once  my  friends,  an'  now 
they  speak  hard  of  me  an'  call  me  a  '  Pawnee,'  the 
whole  length  of  the  Yellowstone  from  the  Missouri 

221 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

to  the  Falls.  However,  Moh  Kwa  has  something 
for  the  Catfish  people  this  time  which  he  will  not 
take  back,  an'  by  to-morrow's  sun,  the  river  will 
ring-  with  Moh-Kwa's  praises." 

Moh-Kwa  carried  Coldheart  to  the  Yellowstone, 
an'  he  sang  an'  shouted  for  all  the  Catfish  people 
to  come.  Then  Moh-Kwa  took  Coldheart  to  a 
deep  place  in  the  river  a  long  way  from  the  bank. 
An'  Moh-Kwa  held  Coldheart  while  the  Chief  of 
the  Catfish  got  a  strong  hold,  an'  his  squaw — 
who  was  four  times  bigger  than  the  Catfish  Chief 
— got  also  a  strong  hold;  an'  then  what  others  of 
the  Catfish  people  were  there  took  their  holds. 
When  every  catfish  was  ready  Moh-Kwa  let  Cold- 
heart  slip  from  between  his  paws,  an'  with  a 
swish  an'  a  swirl,  the  Catfish  people  snatched 
Coldheart  under  the  water  an'  tore  him  to  pieces. 
For  many  days  the  Yellowstone  was  bank-full  of 
good  words  for  Moh-Kwa;  an'  all  the  Catfish 
people  said  he  was  a  Sioux  an'  no  cheat  of  a 
Pawnee  who  gives  only  to  take  back. 

That  night  in  his  cavern  Moh-Kwa  sat  by  Ish- 
koo-dah,  the  Fire,  an'  smoked  an'  told  the  Widow 
the  story,  an'  how  it  all  began  by  Openhand  bring 
ing  the  Fire  back  to  be  his  friend  when  they  had 
quarreled  an'  the  Fire  had  gone  out  an'  would 
not  return.  An'  while  Moh-Kwa  told  the  tale  to 
the  Widow,  not  an  owl  said  a  word  or  even  whis 
pered,  but  blinked  in  silence  each  on  his  perch; 
for  the  Widow  seemed  lean  an'  slim  as  she  lay  by 

222 


HOW  MOH-KWAH  FED  CATFISH. 

the  fire  an'  listened ;  an'  the  owls  thought  it  would 
be  foolish  to  remind  Moh-Kwa  of  their  presence. 


"  Now,  do  you  know,"  said  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman,  with  his  head  on  one  side  as  one  who 
would  be  deemed  deeply  the  critic,  "  these  Indian 
stories  are  by  no  means  bad."  Then  leaning 
across  to  the  Old  Cattleman,  he  asked :  "  Does 
our  Sioux  friend  make  them  up  ?  " 

"  Them  tales,"  said  the  Old  Cattleman,  lighting 
a  new  cigar,  "  is  most  likely  as  old  as  the  Yellow 
stone  itse'f.  The  squaws  an'  the  old  bucks  tell 
'em  to  the  children,  an'  so  they  gets  passed  along 
the  line.  Sioux  Sam  only  repeats  what  he's  done 
heard  from  his  mother." 

"  And  now,"  remarked  the  Jolly  Doctor,  ad 
dressing  the  Sour  Gentleman,  "what  say  you? 
How  about  that  story  of  the  Customs  concerning 
which  you  whetted  our  interest  by  giving  us  the 
name.  It  is  strange,  too,  that  while  my  interest 
is  still  as  strong  as  ever,  the  name  itself  has  clean" 
slipped  through  the  fingers  of  my  memory."  At 
this  the  Jolly  Doctor  glared  about  the  circle  as 
though  in  wonder  at  the  phenomenon  of  an  in 
terest  which  remained  when  the  reason  of  it  had 
faded  away. 

"  I  will  willingly  give  you  the  story,"  said  the 
Sour  Gentleman.  "  That  name  you  search  for  is 
'  The  Emperor's  Cigars.'  " 

223 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

It  is  not  the  blood  which  flows  at  the  front,  my 
friends,  that  is  the  worst  of  war;  it  is  the  money 
corruption  that  goes  on  at  the  rear.  In  old  Sparta, 
theft  was  not  theft  unless  discovered  in  process  of 
accomplishment,  and  those  larcenous  morals  taught 
of  Lycurgus  would  seem,  on  the  tails  of  our  own 
civil  war,  to  have  found  widest  consent  and  adop 
tion  throughout  every  department  of  government. 
The  public  hour  reeled  with  rottenness,  and  you 
may  be  very  sure  the  New  York  Customs  went  as 
staggeringly  corrupt  as  the  rest. 

It  is  to  my  own  proper  shame  that  I  should  have 
fallen  to  have  art  or  part  or  lot  in  such  iniquities. 
Yet  I  went  into  them  with  open  eyes  and  hands, 
and  a  heart — hungry  as  a  pike's — for  whatever 
of  .spoil  chance  or  skilfully  constructed  opportunity 
might  place  within  my  reach.  My  sole  defense,  and 
that  now  sounds  slight  and  trivial  even  to  my  par 
tial  ears,  was  the  one  I  advanced  the  other  day; 
my  two-ply  hatred  of  government  both  for  injuries 
done  my  region  of  the  South  as  well  as  the  personal 
ruin  visited  on  me  when  my  ill-wishers  struck  down 

224 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

that  enterprise  of  steamed  tobacco  which  was  mak 
ing  me  rich.  That  is  all  I  may  urge  in  extenua 
tion,  and  I  concede  its  meager  insufficiency. 

As  I've  said,  I  obtained  an  appointment  as  an 
inspector  of  Customs,  and  afterward  worked  side 
by  side,  and  I  might  add  hand  and  glove,  with  our 
old  friends,  Quin  and  Lorns  of  the  Story  of  the 
Smuggled  Silks.  That  fearsome  honest  Chief  In 
spector  who  so  put  my  heart  to  a  trot  had  been  dis 
missed — for  some  ill-timed  integrity,  I  sup 
pose — sharply  in  the  wake  of  that  day  he  frightened 
me;  and  when  I  took  up  life's  burdens  as  an  officer 
of  the  Customs,  my  companions,  together  with  my 
self,  were  all  black  sheep  together.  Was  there  by 
any  chance  an  honest  man  among  us,  he  did  not 
mention  it,  surely ;  nor  did  he  lapse  into  act  or  deed 
that  might  have  been  evidence  to  prove  him  pure. 
Yes,  forsooth!  ignorance  could  be  overlooked, 
drunkenness  condoned,  indolence  reproved;  but 
for  that  officer  of  our  Customs  who  in  those  days 
was  found  honest,  there  shone  no  ray  of  hope.  He 
was  seized  on  and  cast  into  outer  unofficial  dark 
ness,  there  to  exercise  his  dangerous  probity  in  pri 
vate  life.  There  was  no  room  for  such  among  us; 
no  peace  nor  safety  for  the  rest  while  he  remained. 
Wherefore,  we  of  a  proper  blackness,  were  like  so 
many  descendants  of  Diogenes,  forever  searching 
among  ourselves  to  find  an  honest  man;  but  with 
fell  purpose  when  discovered,  of  his  destruction. 
We  maintained  a  strictest  quarantine  against  any 
15  225 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

infection  of  truth,  and  I  positively  believe,  with  such 
success,  that  it  was  excluded  from  our  midst.  That 
honest  Chief  Inspector  was  dismissed,  I  say;  Lorns 
told  me  of  it  before  I'd  been  actively  in  place  an 
hour,  and  the  news  gave  me  deepest  satisfaction. 

That  gentleman  who  was  official  head  of  the 
coterie  of  revenue  hunters  to  which  I  was  assigned 
was  peculiarly  the  man  unusual.  His  true  name, 
if  I  ever  heard  it,  I've  forgot ;  among  us  of  the  Cus 
toms,  he  was  known  as  Betelnut  Jack.  Lorns  took 
me  into  his  presence  and  made  us  known  to  one  an 
other  early  in  my  revenue  career.  I  had  been  told 
stories  of  this  man  by  both  Lorns  and  Quin.  They 
deeply  reverenced  him  for  his  virtues  of  courage  and 
cunning,  and  the  praises  of  Betelnut  Jack  were  con 
stant  in  their  mouths. 

Betelnut  Jack  was  at  his  home  in  the  Bowery. 
Jack,  in  years  gone  by,  had  been  a  hardy  member 
of  one  of  those  Volunteer  fire  companies  which  in 
that  hour  notably  augmented  the  perils  of  an  urban 
life.  Jack  was  a  doughty  fighter,  and  with  a  speak 
ing  trump  in  one  hand  and  a  spanner-wrench  in  the 
other,  had  done  deeds  of  daring  whereof  one  might 
still  hear  the  echo.  And  he  became  for  these  strong- 
hand  reasons  a  tower  of  strength  in  politics;  and 
obtained  that  eminence  in  the  Customs  which  was 
his  when  first  we  met. 

Betelnut  Jack  received  Lorns  and  myself  in  his 
dingy  small  coop  of  a  parlor.  He  was  unmarried — 
a  popular  theory  in  accounting  for  this  being  that 

226 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

he'd  been  crossed  in  love  in  his  youth.  Besides 
the  parlor,  Jack's  establishment  contained  only  one 
room,  a  bedroom  it  was,  a  shadow  larger  than  the 
bed. 

Betelnnt  Jack  himself  was  wiry  and  dark,  and 
with  a  face  which,  while  showing  marks  of  former 
wars,  shone  the  seat  of  kindly  good-humor. 

There  had  been  an  actor,  Chanfrau,  who  played 
"  Mose,  the  Fireman."  Betelnut  Jack  resembled  in 
dress  his  Bowery  brother  of  the  stage.  His  soiled 
silk  hat  stood  on  a  dresser.  He  wore  a  long  skirted 
coat,  a  red  shirt,  a  belt  which  upheld — in  a  manner 
so  absent-minded  that  one  feared  for  the  conse 
quences — his  trousers ;  these  latter  garments  in  their 
terminations  were  tucked  inside  the  gaudy  tops  of 
calfskin  boots;  small  and  wrinkleless  these,  and  fit 
ting  like  a  glove,  with  the  yellow  seams  of  the  soles 
each  day  carefully  re-yellowed  to  the  end  that  they 
be  admired  of  men.  Betelnut  Jack's  dark  hair,  a 
shade  of  gray  streaking  it  in  places,  was  crisp  and 
wavy;  and  a  long  curl,  carefully  twisted  and  oiled, 
was  brought  down  as  low  as  the  angle  of  his  jaw 
just  forward  of  each  ear. 

"  Be  honest,  young  man !  "  said  Betelnut  Jack, 
at  the  close  of  a  lecture  concerning  my  duties ;  "  be 
honest!  But  if  you  must  take  wrong  money,  take 
enough  each  time  to  pay  for  the  loss  of  your  job. 
Do  you  see  this  ?  "  And  Jack's  hand  fell  on  a  large 
morocco-bound  copy  of  "  Josephus  "  which  lay  on 


227 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

his  table.  "  Well,  Lorns  will  tell  you  what  stories 
I  look  for  in  that." 

And  Lorns,  as  we  came  away,  told  me.  Once 
a  week  it  \vas  the  practice  of  each  inspector  to  split 
off  twenty  per  cent,  of  his  pillage.  He  would,  thus 
organized,  pay  a  visit  to  his  chief,  the  worthy  Betel- 
nut  Jack.  As  they  gossiped,  Jack's  ever-ready  hos 
pitality  would  cause  him  to  retire  for  a  moment  to 
the  bedroom  in  search  of  a  demijohn  of  personal 
whisky.  While  alone  in  the  parlor,  the  visiting 
inspector  would  place  his  contribution  between  the 
leaves  of  "  Josephus,"  and  thereby  the  humiliating, 
if  not  dangerous,  passage  of  money  from  hand  to 
hand  was  missed. 

There  existed  but  one  further  trait  of  caretaking 
forethought  belonging  with  the  worthy  Betelnut 
Jack.  It  would  have  come  better  had  others  of  that 
crooked  clique  of  customs  copied  Betelnut  Jack  in 
this  last  cautious  characteristic.  Justice  is  a  tor 
toise,  while  rascality's  a  hare;  yet  justice  though  shod 
with  lead  wins  ever  the  race  at  last.  Betelnut  Jack 
knew  this;  and  while  getting  darkly  rich  with  the 
others,  he  was  always  ready  for  the  fall.  While  his 
comrades  drove  fast  horses,  or  builded  brown-stone 
fronts,  or  affected  extravagant  opera  and  supper  af 
terward  with  those  painted  lilies,  in  whose  society 
they  delighted,  Betelnut  Jack  clung  to  his  old  rude 
Bowery  nest  of  sticks  and  straws  and  mud,  and  lived 
on  without  a  change  his  Bowery  life.  He  suffered 
no  improvements  whether  of  habit  or  of  habitat,  and 

228 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

provoked  no  question-asking  by  any  gilded  new 
prosperities  of  life. 

As  fast  as  Betelnut  Jack  got  money,  he  bought 
United  States  bonds.  With  each  new  thousand,  he 
got  a  new  bond,  and  tucked  it  safely  away  among 
its  fellows.  These  pledges  of  government  he  kept 
packed  in  a  small  hand-bag;  this  stood  at  his  bed's 
head,  ready  for  instant  flight  with  him.  When  the 
downfall  did  occur,  as  following  sundry  years  of 
loot  and  customs  pillage  was  the  desperate  case, 
Betelnut  Jack  with  the  earliest  whisper  of  peril, 
stepped  into  his  raiment  and  his  calfskin  boots,  took 
up  his  satchel  of  bonds,  and  with  over  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars  of  those  securities — enough  to 
cushion  and  make  pleasantly  sure  the  balance  of 
his  days — saw  the  last  of  the  Bowery,  and  was  out 
of  the  country  and  into  a  corner  of  safety  as  fast  as 
ship  might  swim. 

But  now  you  grow  impatient;  you  would  hear 
in  more  of  detail  concerning  what  went  forward  be 
hind  the  curtains  of  Customs  in  those  later  '6o's. 
For  myself,  I  may  tell  of  no  great  personal  exploits. 
I  did  not  remain  long  in  revenue  service;  fear, 
rather  than  honesty,  forced  me  to  resign;  and 
throughout  that  brief  period  of  my  office  holding, 
youth  and  a  lack  of  talent  for  practical  iniquity 
prevented  my  main  employment  in  those  swart 
transactions  which  from  time  to  time  took  place. 
I  was  liked,  I  was  trusted;  I  knew  what  went  for 
ward  and  in  the  end  I  had  my  share  of  the  ill  profits ; 

229 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

but  the  plans  and,  usually,  the  work  came  from 
others  of  a  more  subtile  and  experienced  venality. 

In  this  affair  of  The  Emperor's  Cigars,  the  story 
was  this.  I  call  them  The  Emperor's  Cigars  be 
cause  they  were  of  a  sort  and  quality  made  par 
ticularly  for  the  then  Imperial  ruler  of  the  French. 
They  sold  at  retail  for  one  dollar  each,  were  worth, 
wholesale,  seventy  dollars  a  hundred,  and  our  ag 
gregate  harvest  of  this  one  operation  was,  as  I  now 
remember,  full  sixty  thousand  dollars. 

My  first  knowledge  was  when  Lorns  told  me  one 
evening  of  the  seizure — by  whom  of  our  circle,  and 
on  what  ship,  I've  now  forgotten — of  one  hundred 
thousand  cigars.  They  were  in  proper  boxes,  con 
cealed  I  never  knew  how,  and  captured  in  the  very 
act  of  being  smuggled  and  just  as  they  came  onto 
our  wharf.  In  designating  the  seizure,  and  for  rea 
sons  which  I've  given  before,  they  were  at  once 
dubbed  and  ever  afterwards  known  among  us  as 
The  Emperor's  Cigars. 

These  one  hundred  thousand  cigars  were  taken 
to  the  Customs  Depot  of  confiscated  goods.  The 
owners,  as  was  our  rule,  were  frightened  with  black 
pictures  of  coming  prison,  and  then  liberated,  never 
to  be  seen  of  us  again.  They  were  glad  enough  to 
win  freedom  without  looking  once  behind  to  see 
what  became  of  their  captured  property. 

It  was  one  week  later  when  a  member  of  our  ring, 
from  poorest  tobacco  and  by  twenty  different  mak 
ers,  caused  one  hundred  thousand  cigars,  duplicates 

230 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

in  size  and  appearance  of  those  Emperor's  Cigars, 
to  be  manufactured.  These  cost  two  and  one-half 
cents  each;  a  conscious  difference,  truly!  between 
that  and  those  seventy  cents,  the  wholesale  price 
of  our  spoil.  Well,  The  Emperor's  Cigars  were 
removed  from  their  boxes  and  their  aristocratic 
places  filled  by  the  worthless  imitations  we  had 
provided.  Then  the  boxes  wrere  again  securely 
closed;  and  to  look  at  them  no  one  would  suspect 
the  important  changes  which  had  taken  place  within. 

The  Emperor's  Cigars  once  out  of  their  two  thou 
sand  boxes  were  carefully  repacked  in  certain  zinc- 
lined  barrels,  and  reshipped  as  "  notions  "  to  Ha 
vana  to  one  of  our  folk  who  went  ahead  of  the 
consignment  to  receive  them.  In  due  course,  and 
in  two  thousand  proper  new  boxes  they  again  ap 
peared  in  the  port  of  New  York;  this  time  they 
paid  their  honest  duty.  Also,  they  had  a  proper 
consignment,  came  to  no  interrupting  griefs;  and 
being  quickly  disposed  of,  wrought  out  for  us  that 
sixty  thousand  dollar  betterment  of  which  I've 
spoken. 

As  corollary  of  this  particular  informality  of  The 
Emperor's  Cigars,  there  occurred  an  incident  which 
while  grievous  to  the  victims,  made  no  little  fun 
for  us;  its  relation  here  may  entertain  you,  and  be 
cause  of  its  natural  connection  with  the  main  story, 
will  come  properly  enough.  At  set  intervals,  the 
government  held  an  auction  of  all  confiscated  goods. 
At  these  markets  to  which  the  public  was  invited 

231 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

to  appear  and  bid,  the  government  asserted  nothing, 
guaranteed  nothing.  In  disposing  of  such  gear  as 
these  cigars,  no  box  was  opened;  no  goods  display 
ed.  One  saw  nothing  but  the  cover,  heard  nothing 
but  the  surmise  of  an  auctioneer,  and  thereupon, 
if  impulse  urged,  bid  what  he  pleased  for  a  pig  in 
a  poke. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  on  the  occasion  when 
The  Emperor's  Cigars  were  held  aloft  for  bids,  the 
garrulous  lecturer  employed  in  selling  the  collected 
plunder  of  three  confiscation  months,  took  up  one 
of  the  two  thousand  boxes  as  a  sample,  and  said : 

"  I  offer  for  sale  a  lot  of  two  thousand  packages, 
of  which  the  one  I  hold  in  my  hand  is  a  specimen. 
Each  package  is  supposed  to  contain  fifty  cigars. 
What  am  I  bid  for  the  lot?  What  offer  do  I 
hear?" 

That  was  the  complete  proffer  as  made  by  the 
government;  for  all  that  the  bidding  was  briskly 
sharp.  Those  who  had  come  to  purchase  were  there 
for  bargains  not  guarantees ;  moreover,  there  was 
the  box ;  and  could  they  not  believe  their  experience  ? 
Each  would-be  bidder  knew  by  the  size  and  shape 
and  character  of  the  package  that  it  was  made  for 
and  should  contain  fifty  cigars  of  the  Emperor 
brand.  Wherefore  no  one  distrusted;  the  question 
of  contents  arose  to  no  mind ;  and  competition  grew 
instant  and  close.  Bid  followed  bid ;  five  hundred 
dollars  being  the  mark  of  each  advance,  as  the  noisy 


232 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

struggle  between  speculators  for  the  lot's  owner 
ship  proceeded. 

At  last  those  celebrated  marketeers,  Grove  and 
Filtord,  received  the  lot — one  hundred  thousand  of 
The  Emperor's  Cigars — for  forty-five  thousand  dol 
lars.  What  thoughts  may  have  come  to  them  later, 
when  they  searched  their  bargain  for  its  merits, 
I  cannot  say.  Not  one  word  of  inquiry,  condemna 
tion  or  complaint  came  from  Grove  and  Filtord. 
Whatever  their  discoveries,  or  whatever  their  de 
ductions,  they  maintained  a  profound  taciturnity. 
Probably  they  did  not  care  to  court  the  laughter 
of  fellow  dealers  by  disclosures  of  the  trap  into 
which  they  had  so  blindly  bid  their  way.  Surely, 
they  must  in  its  last  chapters  have  been  aware  of 
the  swindle!  To  have  believed  in  the  genuineness 
of  the  goods  would  have  dissipated  what  remnant 
of  good  repute  might  still  have  clung  to  that  last  of 
the  Napoleons  who  was  their  inventor,  and  justified 
the  coming  destruction  of  his  throne  and  the  birth 
of  the  republic  which  arose  from  its  ruins.  As  I 
say,  however,  not  one  syllable  of  complaint  came 
floating  back  from  Grove  and  Filtord.  They  took 
their  loss,  and  were  dumb. 

My  owrn  pocket  was  joyfully  gorged  with  much 
fat  advantage  of  this  iniquity — for  inside  we  were 
like  whalers,  each  having  a  prearranged  per  cent, 
of  \vhat  oil  was  made,  no  one  working  for  himself 
alone — long  prior  to  that  bidding  which  so  smote 
on  Grove  and  Filtord.  The  ring  had  no  money 

233 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

interest  in  the  confiscation  sales;  those  proceeds 
went  all  to  government.  We  divided  the  profits  of 
our  own  disposal  of  the  right  true  Emperor's  Cigars 
on  the  occasion  of  their  second  appearance  in  port; 
and  that  business  was  ended  and  over  and  division 
done  sundry  weeks  prior  to  the  Grove  and  Filtord 
disaster. 

That  is  the  story  of  The  Emperor's  Cigars ;  there 
came  still  one  little  incident,  however,  which  was 
doubtless  the  seed  of  those  apprehensions  which 
soon  drove  me  to  quit  the  Customs.  I  had  carried 
his  double  tithes  to  Betelnut  Jack.  This  was  no 
more  the  work  of  policy  than  right.  The  substitu 
tion  of  the  bogus  wares,  the  reshipment  to  Cuba  of 
The  Emperor's  Cigars,  even  the  zinc-lined  barrels, 
the  repackage  and  second  appearance  and  sale  of  our 
prizes,  were  one  and  all  by  direction  of  Betelnut 
Jack.  He  planned  the  campaign  in  each  least  par 
ticular.  To  him  was  the  credit;  and  to  him  came 
the  lion's  share,  as,  in  good  sooth !  it  should  if  there 
be  a  shadow  of  that  honor  among  rogues  whereof 
the  proverb  tells. 

On  the  evening  when  I  sought  Betelnut  Jack,  we 
sat  and  chatted  briefly  of  work  at  the  wharfs.  Not 
one  word,  mind  you !  escaped  from  either  that  might 
intimate  aught  of  customs  immorality.  That  would 
have  been  a  gross  breach  of  the  etiquette  understood 
by  our  flock  of  customs  cormorants.  No;  Betelnut 
Jack  and  I  confined  discussion  to  transactions  ab 
solutely  white;  no  other  was  so  much  as  hinted  at. 

234 


THE  EMPEROR'S  CIGARS. 

Then  came  Betelnut  Jack's  proposal  of  his  special 
Willow  Run;  he  retired  in  quest  of  the  demijohn; 
this  was  my  cue  to  enrich  "  Josephus,"  ready  on 
the  dwarf  center  table  to  receive  the  goods.  My 
present  to  Betelnut  Jack  was  five  one-hundred-dol 
lar  bills. 

Somewhat  in  haste,  I  took  these  from  my  pocket 
and  opened  "  Josephus  "  to  lay  them  between  the 
pages.  Any  place  would  do;  Betelnut  Jack  would 
know  how  to  discover  the  rich  bookmark.  As  I 
parted  the  book,  my  eye  was  arrested  by  a  sentence. 
As  I've  asserted  heretofore,  I'm  not  superstitious; 
yet  that  casual  sentence  seemed  alive  and  to  spring 
upon  me  from  out  "  Josephus  "  as  a  threat : 

"  And  these  men  being  thieves  were  destroyed  by 
the  King's  laws ;  and  their  people  rended  their  gar 
ments,  put  on  sackcloth,  and  throwing  ashes  on  their 
heads  went  about  the  streets,  crying  out." 

That  is  what  it  said;  and  somehow  it  made  my 
heart  beat  quick  and  little  like  a  linnet's  heart.  I 
put  in  my  contribution  and  closed  the  book.  But 
the  words  clung  to  me  like  ivy ;  I  couldn't  free  my 
self.  In  the  end,  they  haunted  me  to  my  resigna 
tion;  and  while  I  remained  long  enough  to  share 
in  the  affair  of  the  German  Girl's  Diamonds,  and 
in  that  of  the  Filibusterer,  when  the  hand  of  dis 
covery  fell  upon  Lorns  and  Quin,  and  others  of  my 
one-time  comrades,  I  was  far  away,  facing  inno 
cent,  if  sometimes  dangerous,  problems  on  our  west 
ern  plains. 

235 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  With  a  profound  respect  for  you/'  observed  the 
Jolly  Doctor  to  the  Sour  Gentleman  when  that 
raconteur  had  ended,  "  and  disavowing  a  least  im 
putation  personal  to  yourself,  I  must  still  say  that  I 
am  amazed  by  the  corruption  which  your  tale  disclos 
es  of  things  beyond  our  Customs  doors.  To  be  sure, 
you  speak  of  years  ago;  and  yet  you  leave  one  to 
wonder  if  the  present  be  wholly  free  from  taint." 

"  It  will  be  remarkable/'  returned  the  Sour  Gen 
tleman,  "  when  any  arm  of  government  is  exerted 
with  entire  integrity  and  no  purpose  save  public 
good,  and  every  thought  of  private  gain  eliminated. 
The  world  never  has  been  so  virtuous,  nor  is  it  like 
to  become  so  in  your  time  or  mine.  Government 
and  those  offices  which,  like  the  works  of  a  watch, 
are  made  to  constitute  it,  are  the  production  of  poli 
tics,  and  politics,  mind  you,  is  nothing  save  the  col 
lected  and  harmonised  selfishness  of  men.  The  fruit 
is  seldom  better  than  the  tree,  and  when  a  source  is 
foul  the  stream  will  wear  a  stain."  Here  the  Sour 
Gentleman  sighed  as  though  over  the  baseness  of 
the  human  race. 

"  While  there's  to  be  no  doubt,"  broke  in  the 
Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  "  concerning  the  corrup 
tion  existing  in  politics  and  the  offices  and  office 
holders  bred  therefrom,  I  am  free  to  say  that  I've 
encountered  as  much  blackness,  and  for  myself  I 
have  been  swindled  oftener  among  merchants  ply 
ing  their  reputable  commerce  of  private  scales  and 
counters  as  in  the  administration  of  public  affairs." 

236 


THE  EMPEROR  S  CIGARS. 

The  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  here  looked  about  with 
a  challenging  eye  as  one  who  would  note  if  his 
observation  is  to  meet  with  contradiction.  Find 
ing  none,  he  relapsed  into  silence  and  burgundy. 

"  Speakin'  of  politics,"  said  the  Old  Cattleman, 
who  had  listened  to  the  others  as  though  he  found 
their  discourse  instructive,  "  it's  the  one  thing  I've 
seen  mighty  little  of.  The  only  occasion  on  which 
I  finds  myse'f  immersed  in  politics  is  doorin'  the 
brief  sojourn  I  makes  in  Missouri,  an'  when  in 
common  with  all  right-thinkin'  gents,  I  whirls  in 
for  Old  Stewart." 

"  Would  you  mind,"  remarked  the  Jolly  Doctor 
in  a  manner  so  amiable  it  left  one  no  power  to 
resist,  "  would  you  mind  giving  us  a  glimpse  of  that 
memorable  campaign  in  which  you  bore  doubtless 
no  inconsiderable  part?  We  should  have  time  for 
it,  before  we  retire." 

"  Which  the  part  I  bears,"  responded  the  Old  Cat 
tleman,  "  wouldn't  amount  to  the  snappin'  of  a  cap. 
As  to  tellin'  you-all  concernin'  said  outburst  of 
pop'lar  enthoosiasm  for  Old  Stewart,  I'm  plumb 
willin'  to  go  as  far  as  you  likes."  Drawing  his 
chair  a  bit  closer  to  the  fire  and  seeing  to  it  that  a 
glass  of  Scotch  was  within  the  radius  of  his  reach, 
the  Old  Cattleman  began. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  GREAT   STEWART   CAMPAIGN. 

As  I  states,  I  saveys  nothin'  personal  of  politics. 
Thar's  mighty  little  politics  gets  brooited  about 
Wolfville,  an'  I  ain't  none  shore  but  it's  as  well. 
The  camp's  most  likely  a  heap  peacefuller  as  a  com- 
moonity.  Shore,  Colonel  Sterett  discusses  politics 
in  that  Coyote  paper  he  conducts;  but  none  of  it's 
nearer  than  Washington,  an'  it  all  seems  so  plumb 
dreamy  an'  far  away  that  while  it's  interesting  it 
can't  be  regyarded  as  replete  of  the  harrowin'  ex 
citement  that  sedooces  a  public  from  its  nacheral 
rest  an'  causes  it  to  set  up  nights  an'  howl. 

Rummagin'  my  mem'ry,  I  never  does  hear  any 
politics  talked  local  but  once,  an'  that's  by  Dan 
Boggs.  It's  when  the  Colonel  asks  Dan  to  what 
party  he  adheres  in  principle — for  thar  ain't  no 
real  shore-enough  party  lurkin'  about  in  Arizona 
much,  it  bein'  a  territory  that  a-way  an*  mighty  busy 
over  enterprises  more  calc'lated  to  pay — an'  Dan 
retorts  that  he's  hooked  up  with  no  outfit  none  as 
yet,  but  stands  ready  as  far  as  his  sentiments  is 
involved  to  go  buttin'  into  the  first  organization 
that'll  cheapen  nose-paint,  'liminate  splits  as  a  resk 

238 


THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN. 

in  faro-bank,  an'  raise  the  price  of  beef.  Further 
than  them  tenets,  Dan  allows  he  ain't  got  no  prin 
ciples. 

Man  an'  boy  I  never  witnesses  any  surplus  of 
politics  an'  party  strife.  In  Tennessee  when  I'm 
a  child  every  decent  gent  has  been  brought  up  a 
Andy  Jackson  man,  an'  so  continyoos  long  after 
that  heroic  captain  is  petered.  As  you-all  can  im 
agine,  politics  onder  sech  conditions  goes  all  one 
way  like  the  currents  of  the  Cumberland.  Thar's 
no  bicker,  no  strife,  simply  a  vast  Andy  Jackson 
yooniformity. 

The  few  years  I  puts  in  about  Arkansaw  ain't 
much  different.  Leastwise  we-all  don't  have  is 
sues;  an'  what  contests  does  arise  is  gen'rally  per 
sonal  an'  of  the  kind  where  two  gents  enjoys  a 
j'int  debate  with  their  bowries  or  shows  each  other 
how  wrong  they  be  with  a  gun.  An'  while  politics 
of  the  variety  I  deescribes  is  thrillin',  your  caution 
rather  than  your  intellects  gets  appealed  to,  while 
feuds  is  more  apt  to  be  their  frootes  than  any  draw- 
in'  of  reg'lar  party  lines.  Wherefore  I  may  say 
it's  only  doorin'  the  one  year  I  abides  in  Missouri 
when  I  experiences  troo  politics  played  with  issues, 
candidates,  mass-meetin's  an'  barbecues. 

For  myse'f,  my  part  is  not  spectacyoolar,  bein' 
I'm  new  an'  raw  an'  young;  but  I  looks  on  with 
relish,  an'  while  I  don't  cut  no  hercoolean  figger 
in  the  riot,  I  shore  saveys  as  much  about  what's 


239 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

goin'  on  as  the  best  posted  gent  between  the  Ozarks 
an'  the  Iowa  line. 

What  you-all  might  consider  as  the  better  ele 
ment  is  painted  up  to  beat  Old  Stewart  who's  out 
sloshin'  about  demandin'  re-election  to  Jeff  City 
for  a  second  term.  The  better  element  says  Old 
Stewart  drinks.  An'  this  accoosation  is  doubtless 
troo  a  wrhole  lot,  for  I'm  witness  myse'f  to  the  fol 
lowing  colloquy  which  takes  place  between  Old 
Stewart  an'  a  jack-laig  doctor  he  crosses  up  with 
in  St.  Joe.  Old  Stewart's  jest  come  forth  from 
the  tavern,  an'  bein'  on  a  joobilee  the  evenin'  be 
fore,  is  lookin'  an'  mighty  likely  feelin'  some  seedy. 

"  Doc,"  says  Old  Stewart,  openin'  his  mouth  as 
wide  as  a  young  raven,  an'  then  shettin'  it  ag'in  so's 
to  continyoo  his  remarks,  "  Doc,  I  wish  you'd  peer 
into  this  funnel  of  mine." 

Then  he  opens  his  mouth  ag'in  in  the  same  egree- 
gious  way,  while  the  scientist  addressed  scouts  about 
tharin  with  his  eyes,  plenty  owley.  At  last  the 
Doc  shows  symptoms  of  bein'  ready  to  report. 

"  Which  I  don't  note  nothin'  onusual,  Gov'nor, 
about  that  mouth,"  says  the  Doc,  "  except  it's  a  heap 
voloominous." 

"  Don't  you  discern  no  signs  or  signal  smokes  of 
any  foreign  bodies  ?  "  says  Old  Stewart,  a  bit  pet 
tish,  same  as  if  he  can't  onderstand  sech  blindness. 

"  None  whatever !  "  observes  the  Doc. 

"  It's  shore  strange,"  retorts  Old  Stewart,  still 
in  his  complainin'  tones ;  "  thar's  two  hundred  nig- 

240 


THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN. 

gers,  a  brick  house  an'  a  thousand  acres  of  bottom 
land  gone  down  that  throat,  an'  I  sort  o'  reckons 
some  traces  of  'em  would  show." 

That's  the  trouble  with  Old  Stewart  from  the 
immacyoolate  standpint  of  the  better  classes;  they 
says  he  overdrinks.  But  while  it's  convincin'  to 
sooperior  folks  an'  ones  who's  goin'  to  church  an' 
makin'  a  speshulty  of  it,  it  don't  sep'rate  Old  Stew 
art  from  the  warm  affections  of  the  rooder  masses 
— the  catfish  an'  quinine  aristocracy  that  dwells 
along  the  Missouri ;  they're  out  for  him  to  the  last 
sport. 

"  Suppose  the  old  Gov'nor  does  drink,"  says  one, 
"what  difference  does  that  make?  Now,  if  he's 
goin'  to  try  sootes  in  co't,  or  assoome  the  pressure 
as  a  preacher,  thar'd  be  something  in  the  bluff.  But 
it  don't  cut  no  rigger  whether  a  gov'nor  is  sober 
or  no.  All  he  has  to  do  is  pardon  convicts  an' 
make  notaries  public,  an'  no  gent  can  absorb  licker 
s'fficient  to  incapac'tate  him  for  sech  trivial  dooties." 

One  of  the  argyments  they  uses  ag'in  Old  Stew 
art  is  about  a  hawg-thief  he  pardons.  Old  Stewart 
is  headin'  up  for  the  state  house  one  mornin',  when 
he  caroms  on  a  passel  of  felons  in  striped  clothes 
who's  pesterin'  about  the  grounds,  tittivatin'  up  the 
scenery.  Old  Stewart  pauses  in  front  of  one  of 
'em. 

"  What  be  you-all  in  the  pen'tentiary  for?  "  says 
Old  Stewart,  an'  he's  profoundly  solemn. 

Tharupon  the  felon  trails  out  on  a  yarn  about 

16 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

how  he's  a  innocent  an'  oppressed  person.  He's 
that  honest  an'  upright — hear  him  relate  the  tale — 
that  you'd  feel  like  apol'gizin'.  Old  Stewart  listens 
to  this  victim  of  intrigues  an'  outrages  ontil  he's 
through ;  then  he  goes  romancin'  along  to  the  next. 
Thar's  five  wronged  gents  in  that  striped  outfit,  five 
who's  as  free  from  moral  taint  or  stain  of  crime  as 
Dave  Tutt's  infant  son,  Enright  Peets  Tutt. 

But  the  sixth  is  different.  He  admits  he's  a  mis 
creant  an'  has  done  stole  a  hawg. 

"  However  did  you  steal  it,  you  scoundrel  ?  "  de 
mands  Old  Stewart. 

"  I'm  outer  meat,"  says  the  crim'nal,  "  an'  a  band 
of  pigs  comes  pirootin'  about,  an'  I  nacherally  takes 
my  rifle  an'  downs  one." 

"  Was  it  a  valyooable  hawg?  " 

"  You-all  can  gamble  it  ain't  no  runt,"  retorts  the 
crim'nal.  "  I  shore  ain't  pickin'  out  the  worst,  an' 
I'm  as  good  a  jedge  of  hawgs  as  ever  eats  corn  pone 
an'  cracklin'." 

At  this  Old  Stewart  falls  into  a  foamin'  rage  an* 
turns  on  the  two  gyards  who's  soopervisin'  the  cap 
tives. 

"  Whatever  do  you-all  mean,"  he  roars,  "  bringin' 
this  common  an'  confessed  hawg-thief  out  yere  with 
these  five  honest  men?  Don't  you  know  he'll  cor 
rupt  'em  ?  " 

Tharupon  Old  Stewart  reepairs  to  his  rooms  in 
the  state  house  an'  pardons  the  hawg  convict  with 
the  utmost  fury. 

242 


THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN. 

"  An'  now,  pull  your  freight,"  says  Old  Stewart, 
to  the  crim'nal,  "  If  you're  in  Jeff  City  twenty- 
four  hours  from  now  I'll  have  you  shot  at  sunrise. 
The  idee  of  compellin'  five  spotless  gents  to  con- 
tinyoo  in  daily  companionship  with  a  low  hawg- 
thief !  I  pardons  you,  not  because  you  merits  mer 
cy,  but  to  preserve  the  morals  of  our  prison." 

The  better  element  concloods  they'll  take  advan 
tage  of  Old  Stewart's  willin'ness  for  rum  an'  make 
a  example  of  him  before  the  multitoode.  They  de 
cides  they'll  construct  the  example  at  a  monstrous 
meetin'  that's  schedyooled  for  Hannibal,  where  Old 
Stewart  an'  his  opponent — who  stands  for  the  bet 
ter  element  mighty  excellent,  seein'  he's  worth  about 
a  million  dollars  with  a  home-camp  in  St.  Looey, 
an'  never  a  idee  above  dollars  an'  cents — is  pro 
grammed  for  one  of  these  yere  j'int  debates,  frequent 
in  the  politics  of  that  era.  The  conspiracy  is  the 
more  necessary  as  Old  Stewart,  mental,  is  so  much 
swifter  than  the  better  element's  candidate,  that  he 
goes  by  him  like  a  antelope.  Only  two  days  prior 
at  the  town  of  Fulton,  Old  Stewart  comes  after  the 
better  element's  candidate  an'  gets  enough  of  his 
hide,  oratorical,  to  make  a  saddle-cover.  The  bet 
ter  element,  alarmed  for  their  gent,  resolves  on  meas 
ures  in  Hannibal  that's  calc'lated  to  redooce  Old 
Stewart  to  a  shorething.  They  don't  aim  to  allow 
him  to  wallop  their  gent  at  the  Hannibal  meetin' 
like  he  does  in  old  Callaway.  With  that,  they  con 
fides  to  a  trio  of  Hannibal's  sturdiest  sots — all  of 

243 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

'em  acquaintances  an'  pards  of  Old  Stewart — the 
sacred  task  of  gettin'  that  statesman  too  drunk  to 
orate. 

This  yere  Hannibal  barbecue,  whereat  Old  Stew 
art's  goin'  to  hold  a  open-air  discussion  with  his 
aristocratic  opponent,  is  set  down  for  one  in  the 
afternoon.  The  three  who's  to  throw  Old  Stewart 
with  copious  libations  of  strong  drink,  hunts  that 
earnest  person  out  as  early  as  sun-up  at  the  tavern. 
They  invites  him  into  the  bar-room  an'  bids  the  bar- 
keep  set  forth  his  nourishment. 

Gents,  it  works  like  a  charm!  All  the  mornin', 
Old  Stewart  swings  an'  rattles  with  the  plotters 
an'  goes  drink  for  drink  with  'em,  holdin'  nothin' 
back. 

For  all  that  the  plot  falls  down.  When  it's  come 
the  hour  for  Old  Stewart  to  resort  to  the  barbecue 
an'  assoome  his  share  in  the  exercises,  two  of  the 
Hannibal  delegation  is  spread  out  cold  an'  he'pless 
in  a  r'ar  room,  while  Old  Stewart  is  he'pin'  the 
third — a  gent  of  whom  he's  partic'lar  fond — up 
stairs  to  Old  Stewart's  room,  where  he  lays  him 
safe  an'  serene  on  the  blankets.  Then  Old  Stew 
art  takes  another  drink  by  himse'f,  an'  j'ins  his  brave 
adherents  at  the  picnic  grounds.  Old  Stewart  is 
never  more  loocid,  an'  ag'in  he  peels  the  pelt  from 
the  better  element's  candidate,  an'  does  it  with 
graceful  ease. 

Old  Stewart,  however,  is  regyarded  as  in  peril 
of  defeat.  He's  mighty  weak  in  the  big  towns 

244 


THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN. 

where  the  better  element  is  entrenched,  an'  churches 
grow  as  thick  as  blackberries.  Even  throughout 
the  rooral  regions,  wherever  a  meetin'  house  pokes 
up  its  spire,  it's  onderstood  that  Old  Stewart's  in 
a  heap  of  danger. 

It  ain't  that  Old  Stewart  is  sech  a  apostle  of  nose- 
paint  neither;  it  ain't  whiskey  that's  goin'  to  kill 
him  off  at  the  ballot  box.  It's  the  fact  that  the 
better  element's  candidate — besides  bein'  rich,  which 
is  allers  a  mark  of  virchoo  to  a  troo  believer — is  a 
church  member,  an'  belongs  to  a  congregation  where 
he  passes  the  plate,  an'  stands  high  up  in  the  papers. 
This  makes  the  better  element's  gent  a  heap  pop'lar 
with  church  folk,  while  pore  Old  Stewart,  who's  a 
hopeless  sinner,  don't  stand  no  show. 

This  grows  so  manifest  that  even  Old  Stewart's 
most  locoed  supporters  concedes  that  he's  gone;  an' 
money  is  offered  at  three  to  one  that  the  better  ele 
ment's  entry  will  go  over  Old  Stewart  like  a  Joone 
rise  over  a  tow-head.  Old  Stewart  hears  these 
yere  misgivin's  an'  bids  his  folks  be  of  good  cheer. 

"  I'll  fix  that,"  says  Old  Stewart.  "  By  election 
day,  my  learned  opponent  will  be  in  sech  disrepoote 
with  every  church  in  Missouri  he  won't  be  able  to 
get  clost  enough  to  one  of  'em  to  give  it  a  ripe 
peach."  Old  Stewart  onpouches  a  roll  which  mus 
ters  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  "  That's  mighty  lit 
tle;  but  it'll  do  the  trick." 

Old  Stewart's  folks  is  mystified;  they  can't  make 
out  how  he's  goin'  to  round  up  the  congregations 

245 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

with  so  slim  a  workin'  cap'tal.  But  they  has  faith 
in  their  chief;  an'  his  word  goes  for  all  they've  got. 
When  he  lets  on  he'll  have  the  churches  arrayed 
ag'inst  the  foe,  his  warriors  takes  heart  of  grace  an' 
jumps  into  the  collar  an'  pulls  like  lions  refreshed. 

It's  the  fourth  Sunday  before  election  when  Old 
Stewart,  by  speshul  an'  trusted  friends  presents  five 
hundred  dollars  each  to  a  church  in  St.  Looey,  an' 
another  in  St.  Joe,  an'  still  another  in  Hannibal; 
said  gifts  bein'  in  the  name  an'  with  the  compli 
ments  of  his  opponent  an'  that  gent's  best  wishes 
for  the  Christian  cause. 

Thar's  not  a  doubt  raised ;  each  church  believes  it- 
se'f  favored  five  hundred  dollars'  worth  from  the 
kindly  hand  of  the  millionaire  candidate,  an'  the 
three  pastors  sits  pleasantly  down  an'  writes  that 
amazed  sport  a  letter  of  thanks  for  his  moonificence. 
He  don't  onderstand  it  none;  but  he  decides  it's 
wise  to  accept  this  accidental  pop'larity,  an'  he  wax 
es  guileful  an'  writes  back  an'  says  that  while  he 
don't  clearly  onderstand,  an'  no  thanks  is  his  doo, 
he's  tickled  to  hear  he's  well  bethought  of  by  the 
good  Christians  of  St.  Looey,  St.  Joe  an'  Hanni 
bal,  as  expressed  in  them  missives.  The  better  ele 
ment's  candidate  congratulates  himse'f  on  his  good 
luck,  stands  pat,  an'  accepts  his  onexpected  wreaths. 
That's  jest  what  Old  Stewart,  who  is  as  cunnin' 
as  a  fox,  is  aimin'  at. 

In  two  days  the  renown  of  them  five-hundred-dol 
lar  gifts  goes  over  the  state  like  a  cat  over  a  back 

246 


THE  GREAT  STEWART  CAMPAIGN. 

roof.  In  four  days  every  church  in  the  state  hears 
of  these  largesses.  An'  bein'  plumb  alert  financial, 
as  churches  ever  is,  each  sacred  outfit  writes  on  to 
the  better  element's  candidate  an'  desires  five  hun 
dred  dollars  of  that  onfortunate  publicist.  He  gets 
sixty  thousand  letters  in  one  week  an'  each  calls  for 
five  hundred. 

Gents,  thar's  no  more  to  be  said;  the  better  ele 
ment's  candidate  is  up  ag'inst  it.  He  can't  yield 
to  the  fiscal  demands,  an'  it's  too  late  to  deny  the 
gifts.  Whereupon  the  other  churches  resents  the 
favoritism  he's  displayed  about  the  three  in  St. 
Looey,  St.  Joe  an'  Hannibal.  They  regyards  him 
as  a  hoss-thief  for  not  rememberin'  them  while  his 
weaselskin  is  in  his  hand,  an'  on  election  day  they 
comes  down  on  him  like  a  pan  of  milk  from  a  top 
shelf !  You  hear  me,  they  shorely  blots  that  onhap- 
py  candidate  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  an'  Old  Stew 
art  is  Gov'nor  ag'in. 


On  the  fourth  evening  of  our  companionship 
about  the  tavern  fire,  it  was  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man  who  took  the  lead  with  a  story. 

"  You  spoke,"  said  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman, 
addressing  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "  of  having  been  told 
by  a  friend  a  story  you  gave  us.  Not  long  ago  I 
was  in  the  audience  while  an  old  actor  recounted 
how  he  once  went  to  the  aid  of  an  individual  named 

247 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Connelly.  It  was  not  a  bad  story,  I  thought;  and 
if  you  like,  I'll  tell  it  to-night.  The  gray  Thespian 
called  his  adventure  The  Rescue  of  Connelly,  and 
these  were  his  words  as  he  related  it.  We  were 
about  a  table  in  Browne's  chop  house  when  he  told 
it." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    RESCUE    OF    CONNELLY. 

Equipped  as  we  are  for  the  conquest  of  com 
fort  with  fresh  pipes,  full  mugs,  and  the  flavor  of  a 
best  of  suppers  still  extant  within  our  mouths,  it 
may  be  an  impertinence  for  one  to  moralize. 
And  yet,  as  I  go  forward  to  this  incident,  I  will 
premise  that,  in  every  least  exigency  of  life,  ill 
begets  ill,  while  good  springs  from  good  and  fol 
lows  the  doer  with  a  profit.  Such  has  been  my 
belief;  such,  indeed,  has  been  my  unbroken  ex 
perience;  and  the  misfortunes  of  Connelly,  and 
my  relief  of  them,  small  matters  in  themselves,  are 
in  proof  of  what  I  say. 

At  sixty  I  look  back  with  envy  on  that  decade 
which  followed  my  issuing  forth  from  Trinity  Col 
lege,  when,  hopeless,  careless,  purposeless  beyond 
the  moment,  I  wandered  the  face  of  the  earth  and 
fed  or  starved  at  the  hands  of  chance-born  oppor 
tunity.  I  was  up  or  down  or  rich  or  poor,  and, 
with  an  existence  which  ran  from  wine  to  ditch 
water  and  back  again  to  wine,  was  happy.  I  re 
call  how  in  those  days  of  checkered  fortune, 
wherein  there  came  a  proportion  of  one  hour  of 

249 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

shadow  to  one  moment  of  sun,  I  was  wont  to 
think  on  riches  and  their  possession.  I  would 
say  to  myself :  "  And  should  it  so  befall  that  I 
make  my  millions,  I'll  have  none  about  me  but 
broken  folk:  I'll  refuse  to  so  much  as  permit  the 
acquaintance  of  a  rich  man."  I've  been  ever 
deeply  controlled  by  the  sentiment  therein  ex 
pressed.  Sure  it  is,  I've  been  incapable  of  the 
example  of  the  Levite,  and  could  never  keep  to 
the  other  side  of  the  way  when  distress  appealed. 

My  youth  was  wild,  and  staid  folk  called  it 
"vicious."  I  squandered  my  fortune;  melted  it, 
as  August  melteth  ice,  while  still  at  Trinity.  It 
was  my  misfortune  to  reach  my  majority  before 
I  reached  my  graduation,  and  those  two  college 
years  which  ensued  after  I  might  legally  write 
myself  "  man  "  and  the  wild  days  that  filled  them 
up,  brought  me  to  face  the  world  with  no  more 
shillings  than  might  take  me  to  Australia.  How 
ever,  they  were  gay  though  graceless  times — 
those  college  years;  and  Dublin,  from  Smock 
Alley  to  Sackville  Street,  may  still  remember  them. 

Those  ten  years  after  quitting  Dublin  were 
years  of  hit  or  miss.  I  did  everything  but  preach 
or  steal.  Yes,  I  even  fought  three  prize-fights; 
and  there  were  warped,  distorted  moments  when, 
bloody  but  victorious,  I  believed  it  better  to  be  a 
fighter  than  to  be  a  bishop. 

But  for  the  main,  I  drifted  to  the  theaters  and 
lived  by  the  drama.  Doubtless  I  was  a  wretched 

250 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY. 

actor — albeit  I  felt  myself  a  Kemble — but  the 
stage  was  so  far  good  to  me  it  finally  brought  me 
— as  an  underling  of  much  inconsequence — to  the 
fair  city  of  New  York.  I  did  but  little  for  the 
drama,  but  it  did  much  for  me;  it  led  me  to 
America.  And  now  that  I've  come  to  New  York 
in  this  story,  I've  come  to  Connelly. 

Mayhap  I  had  been  in  New  York  three  weeks. 
It  was  a  chill  night  in  April,  and  I  was  going 
down  Broadway  and  thinking  on  bed ;  for,  having 
done  nothing  all  day  save  run  about,  I  was  very 
tired.  It  was  under  the  lamps  at  the  corner  of 
Twenty-ninth  Street,  that  I  first  beheld  Connelly. 
Thin  of  face  as  of  coat,  he  stood  shivering  in  the 
keen  air.  There  was  something  so  beaten  in  the 
pose  of  the  sorrowful  figure  that  I  was  brought  to 
a  full  stop. 

As  strange  to  the  land  and  its  courtesies  as  I 
was  to  Connelly,  I  hesitated  for  a  moment  to 
speak.  I  was  loth  to  be  looked  upon  as  one  who, 
from  a  motive  of  curiosity,  would  insult  another  in 
bad  luck.  But  I  took  courage  from  my  virtue 
and  at  last  made  bold  to  accost  him: 

"  Why  do  you  stand  shivering  here  ?  "  I  said. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  home?" 

"  It's  a  boarding-house,"  said  Connelly.  "  I 
owe  the  old  lady  thirty  dollars  and  if  I  go  back 
she'll  hold  me  prisoner  for  it." 

Then  he  told  me  his  name,  and  that  the  trouble 
with  him  came  from  too  much  rum.  Connelly 

251 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

had  a  Dublin  accent  and  it  won  on  me ;  moreover, 
I  also  had  had  troubles  traceable  to  rum. 

"  Come  home,"  I  said;  "you  can't  stand  here 
all  night.  Come  home ;  I'll  go  with  you  and  have 
a  talk  with  the  old  lady  myself.  Perhaps  I'll  find 
a  way  to  soften  her  or  make  her  see  reason." 

"  She's  incapable  of  seeing  reason/'  said  Con 
nelly;  "  incapable  of  seeing  anything  save  money. 
She  understands  nothing  but  gold.  She'll  hold 
me  captive  a  week ;  then  if  I  don't  pay,  she'll  have 
me  arrested.  You  don't  know  the  'old  lady:' 
she's  a  demon  unless  she's  paid." 

However,  I  led  Connelly  over  to  Sixth  Avenue 
and  restored  his  optimism  with  strong  drink. 
Then  I  bought  a  quart  of  whiskey ;  thus  sustained, 
Connelly  summoned  courage  and  together  we 
sought  his  quarters.  In  his  little  room  we  sat  all 
night,  discussing  the  whiskey  and  Dublin  and 
Connelly's  hard  fate. 

With  the  morning  I  was  presented  to  the  "  old 
lady," — an  honor  to  make  one  quake.  When  I 
reviewed  her  acrid  features,  I  knew  that  Connelly 
was  right.  Nothing  could  move  that  stony  heart 
but  money.  I  put  off,  therefore,  those  gallantries 
and  blandishments  I  might  otherwise  have  intro 
duced,  and  came  at  once  to  the  question. 

"  How  much  does  Connelly  owe  ?  " 

"  Thirty  dollars !  " 

The  words  were  emphasized  with  a  click  of 
teeth  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  rat-trap. 

252 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY. 

There  was  a  baleful  gleam,  too,  in  the  jadestone 
eye.  Clearly,  Connelly  had  read  the  signs  aright. 
He  might  regard  himself  as  a  prisoner  until  the 
"  old  lady  "  was  paid. 

That  iron  landlady  went  away  to  her  duties  and 
I  counted  my  fortunes.  They  assembled  but 
twenty-four  dollars — a  slim  force  and  not  one 
wherewith  to  storm  the  citadel  of  Connelly's 
troubles.  How  should  I  augment  my  capital? 
I  knew  of  but  one  quick  method  and  that  flowed 
with  risks — it  was  the  races. 

I  turned  naturally  to  the  horses,  for  it  was  those 
continuous  efforts  which  I  put  forth  to  name 
winners  that  had  so  dissipated  my  patrimony. 
About  the  time  I  might  have  selected  a  victor  now 
and  then,  my  wealth  was  departed  away.  It  is 
always  thus.  Sinister  yet  satirical  paradox!  the 
best  judges  of  racing  have  ever  the  least  money ! 

There  was  no  new  way  open  to  me,  however,  in 
this  instance  of  Connelly.  I  must  pay  his  debt 
that  day  if  I  would  redeem  him  from  this  Bastile 
of  a  boarding-house,  and  the  races  were  my  single 
chance.  I  explained  to  Connelly;  obtained  him 
the  consolation  of  a  second  quart  wherewith  to 
cure  the  sharper  cares  of  his  bondage,  and  started 
for  the  race-course.  I  knew  nothing  of  American 
horses  and  less  of  American  tracks,  but  I  held  not 
back  for  that.  In  the  transaction  of  a  work  of 
virtue  I  would  trust  to  lucky  stars. 

As  I  approached  the  race-course  gates,  my  eyes 
253 


THE  BLACK  LION  IXN. 

were  pleased  with  the  vision  of  that  excellent  pugi 
list,  Joe  Coburn.  I  had  known  this  unworthy  in 
Melbourne;  he  had  graced  the  ringside  on  those 
bustling  occasions  when  I  pulled  shirt  over  head 
and  held  up  my  hands  for  the  stakes  and  the  honor 
of  old  Ireland.  Grown  too  fat  for  fisticuffs,  Co- 
burn  struggled  with  the  races  for  his  daily  bread. 
As  he  was  very  wise  of  horses,  and  likewise  very 
crooked,  I  bethought  me  that  Coburn's  advice 
might  do  me  good.  If  there  were  a  trap  set, 
Coburn  should  know;  and  he  might  aid  a  former 
fellow-gladiator  to  have  advantage  thereof  and 
show  the  road  to  riches. 

Are  races  ever  crooked?  Man!  I  whiles  won 
der  at  the  age's  ignorance!  Crooked?  Indubita 
bly  crooked.  There  was  never  rascal  like  your 
rascal  of  sport;  there's  that  in  the  word  to  disin 
tegrate  integrity.  I  make  no  doubt  it  wras  thus 
in  every  time  and  clime  and  that  even  the  Olym 
pian  games  themselves  were  honeycombed  \vith 
fraud,  and  the  sacred  Altis  wherein  they  wrere 
celebrated  a  mere  hotbed  of  robbery.  However, 
to  regather  with  the  doubtful  though  sapient 
Coburn. 

"Who's  to  win  the  first  race?"  I  asked. 

"  Play  Blue  Bells !  "  and  Coburn  looked  at  me 
hard  and  as  one  who  held  mysterious  knowledge. 

Blue  Bells ! — I  put  a  cautious  five-dollar  piece 
on  Blue  Bells.  I  saw  her  at  the  start.  Vilest  of 
beasts,  she  never  finished — never  met  my  eye 

254 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY. 

again.  I  asked  someone  what  had  become  of  her. 
He  said  that,  taking  advantage  of  sundry  missing 
boards  over  on  the  back-stretch,  Blue  Bells  had 
bolted  and  gone  out  through  the  fence.  This  may 
have  been  fact  or  it  may  have  been  sarcasmal  fic 
tion;  the  truth  important  is,  I  lost  my  wager. 

Still  true  to  a  first  impresion — though  I  confess 
to  confidence  a  trifle  shaken — I  again  sought 
Coburn. 

"  That  was  a  great  tip  you  gave  me !  "  I  said. 
"  That  suggestion  of  Blue  Bells  was  a  marvel ! 
What  do  you  pick  for  the  next?  " 

"  Get  Tambourine !  "  retorted  Coburn.  "  It's  a 
sure  thing." 

Another  five  I  placed  on  Tambourine ;  not  with 
out  misgivings.  But  what  might  I  do  better?  My 
judgment  was  worthless  where  I  did  not  know 
one  horse  from  another.  I  might  as  well  take 
Coburn's  advice;  the  more  since  he  went  often 
wrong  and  might  name  a  winner  by  mistake.  Five, 
therefore,  on  Tambourine;  and  when  he  started 
my  hopes  and  Connelly — whose  consoling  quart 
must  be  a  pint  by  now — went  with  him. 

At  the  worst  I  may  so  far  compliment  Tam 
bourine  as  to  say  that  I  saw  him  again.  He  finish 
ed  far  in  the  rear;  but  at  least  he  had  the  honesty 
to  go  around  the  course.  Yet  it  was  five  dollars 
lost.  When  Tambourine  went  back  to  his  stable, 
my  capital  was  reduced  by  half,  and  Connelly  and 
liberty  as  far  apart  as  when  we  started. 

255 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Following  the  disaster  of  Tambourine  I  sought 
no  more  the  Coburn.  Clearly  it  was  not  that 
philosopher's  afternoon  for  naming  winners.  Or 
if  it  were,  he  was  keeping  their  names  a  secret. 

Thus  ruminating,  I  sat  reading  the  race  card, 
when  of  a  blinking  sudden  my  eye  was  caught  by 
the  words  "  Bill  Breen."  The  title  seemed  a  sug 
gestion.  Bill  Breen  had  been  my  roommate — my 
best  friend  in  the  days  of  old  Trinity.  I  pondered 
the  coincidence. 

"  If  this  Bill  Breen,"  I  reflected,  "  is  half  as  fast 
as  my  Bill  Breen,  he's  fit  to  carry  Caesar  and  his 
fortunes." 

The  more  I  considered,  the  more  I  wras  im 
pressed.  It  was  like  sinking  in  a  quicksand.  In 
the  end  I  was  caught.  I  waxed  reckless  and 
placed  ten  dollars — fairly  my  residue  of  riches — 
on  Bill  Breen  in  one  of  those  old-fashioned  French 
Mutual  pools  common  of  that  hour;  having  done 
so,  I  crept  away  to  a  lonesome  seat  in  the  grand 
stand  and  trembled.  It  was  now  or  never,  and 
Bill  Breen  would  race  freighted  with  the  fate  of 
Connelly. 

About  two  seats  to  my  right,  and  with  no  one 
between,  sat  a  round,  bloated  body  of  a  man.  He 
looked  so  much  like  a  pig  that,  had  he  been  put 
in  a  sty,  you  would  have  had  nothing  save  the 
fact  that  he  wore  a  hat  to  distinguish  him  from 
the  other  inmates.  And  yet  I  could  tell  by  the 
mien  of  him,  and  his  airs  of  lofty  isolation  and 

256 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY. 

superiority,  that  he  knew  all  about  a  horse — knew 
so  much  more  than  common  folk  that  he  despised 
them  and  withdrew  from  their  society.  It  was 
like  tempting  the  skies  to  speak  to  him,  so  wrap 
ped  was  he  in  the  dignity  of  his  vast  knowledge, 
but  my  quaking  solicitude  over  Bill  Breen  and  the 
awful  stakes  he  ran  for  in  poor  Connelly's  evil 
case,  emboldened  me.  With  a  look,  deprecatory 
at  once  and  apologetic,  I  turned  to  this  oracle : 

"  Do  you  know  a  horse  named  Bill  Breen?  "  I 
asked. 

"  I  do,"  he  replied  coldly.  Then  ungrammatic 
ally:  "That's  him  walking  down  the  track  to  the 
scales  for  the  '  jock  '  to  weigh  in,"  and  he  pointed 
to  a  greyhound-shaped  chestnut. 

"  Can  he  race?  "  I  said,  with  a  gingerly  air  of 
merest  curiosity. 

"  He  can  race,  but  he  won't,"  and  the  swinish 
man  twined  the  huge  gold  chain  about  his  right 
fore-hoof.  "  I  lost  fifty  dollars  on  him  Choosday. 
The  horse  can  race,  but  he  won't ;  he's  crazy." 

"  He  looks  well,"  I  observed  timidly. 

"  Sure !  he  looks  well,"  assented  the  swinish  one ; 
"  but  never  mind  his  looks;  he  won't  win." 

Then  came  the  start  and  the  horses  got  away 
on  the  first  trial.  They  went  off  in  a  bunch,  and 
it  gave  me  some  color  of  satisfaction  to  note 
Bill  Breen  well  to  the  front. 

"  He  has  a  good  start,"  I  ventured. 

"  Hang  the  start !  "  derided  the  swinish  one. 
n  257 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  He  won't  win,  I  tell  you ;  he'll  go  and  jump  over 
the  fence  and  never  come  back." 

As  the  horses  went  from  the  quarter  to  the  half 
mile  post,  Bill  Breen,  running  easily,  was  strongly 
in  the  lead  and  increasing.  My  blood  began  to 
tingle. 

"  He's  ahead  at  the  half  mile." 

"  And  what  of  it  ?  "  retorted  the  swinish  one, 
disgustedly.  "  Now  keep  your  eye  on  him.  In 
ten  seconds  he'll  fly  up  in  the  air  and  stay  there. 
He  won't  win;  the  horse  is  crazy." 

As  the  field  swung  into  the  homestretch  and 
each  jockey  picked  his  route  for  the  run  to  the 
wire,  Bill  Breen  was  going  like  a  bird,  twenty 
yards  to  the  good  if  a  foot.  The  swinish  one 
placed  the  heavy  member  that  had  been  caressing 
the  watch-chain  on  my  shoulder.  He  did  not  wait 
for  any  comment  from  me. 

"Sit  still,"  he  howled;  "sit  still.  He  won't 
win.  If  he  can't  lose  any  other  way,  he'll  stop 
back  beyant  on  the  stretch  and  bite  the  boy  off 
his  back.  That's  what  he'll  do;  he'll  bite  the 
jockey  off  his  back." 

To  this  last  assurance,  delivered  with  a  roar,  I 
made  no  answer.  The  horses  were  coming  like  a 
whirlwind ;  riders  lashing,  nostrils  straining.  The 
roll  of  the  hoofs  put  my  heart  to  a  sympathetic 
gallop.  I  could  not  have  said  a  word  if  I  had 
tried.  With  the  grandstand  in  a  tumult,  the 


258 


THE  RESCUE  OF  CONNELLY. 

horses  flashed  under  the  wire,  Bill  Breen  winner 
with  a  flourish  by  a  dozen  lengths. 

Connelly  was  saved. 

As  the  horses  were  being  dismissed,  and  "  Bill 
Breen"  was  hung  from  the  judges'  stand  as  "first," 
the  swinish  one  contemplated  me  gravely  and  in 
silence. 

"  Have  you  a  ticket  on  him?  " 

"  I  have,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  you'll  win  a  million  dollars."  This  with 
a  toss  as  he  arose  to  go.  "  You'll  win  a  million 
dollars.  You're  the  only  fool  who  has." 

It's  like  the  stories  you  read.  The  swinish  one 
was  so  nearly  correct  in  his  last  remark  that  I 
found  but  two  tickets  besides  my  own  on  Bill 
Breen.  It  has  the  ring  of  fable,  but  I  was  richer  by 
eleven  hundred  and  thirty-two  dollars  when  that 
race  was  over.  Blue  Bells  and  Tambourine  were 
forgotten;  Bill  Breen  had  redeemed  the  day!  It 
was  pleasant  when  I  had  cashed  my  ticket  to  ob 
serve  me  go  about  recovering  the  lost  Connelly. 


"  Now,  there,"  cried  the  Jolly  Doctor,  "  there 
is  a  story  which  tells  of  a  joy  your  rich  man  never 
knows — the  joy  of  being  rescued  from  a  money 
difficulty." 

"  And  do  you  think  a  rich  man  is  for  that  un 
lucky?  "  asked  the  Sour  Gentleman. 

259 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"Verily,  do  I,"  returned  the  Jolly  Doctor, 
earnestly.  "  I  can  conceive  of  nothing  more 
dreary  than  endless  riches — the  wealth  that  is  by 
the  cradle — that  from  birth  to  death  is  as  easy 
to  one's  hand  as  water.  How  should  he  know 
the  sweet  who  has  not  known  the  bitter?  Man! 
the  thorn  is  ever  the  charm  of  the  rose." 

It  was  discovered  in  the  chat  which  followed 
the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman's  tale  that  Sioux  Sam 
might  properly  be  regarded  as  the  one  who  should 
next  take  up  the  burden  of  the  company's  enter 
tainment.  It  stood  a  gratifying  characteristic  of 
our  comrade  from  the  Yellowstone  that  he  was 
not  once  found  to  dispute  the  common  wish.  He 
never  proffered  a  story;  but  he  promptly  told  one 
when  asked  to  do  so.  He  was  taciturn,  but  he 
was  no  less  ready  for  that,  and  the  moment  his 
name  was  called  he  proceeded  with  the  fable  of 
"  Moh-Kwa  and  the  Three  Gifts." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MOH-KWA  AND   THE   THREE   GIFTS. 

This  is  in  the  long  time  ago  when  the  sun  is 
younger  an'  not  so  big  an'  hot  as  now,  an'  Kwa- 
Sind,  the  Strong  Man,  is  a  chief  of  the  Upper 
Yellowstone  Sioux.  It  is  on  a  day  in  the  Moon- 
of-the-first-frost  an'  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  is 
gathering  black-berries  an'  filling  his  mouth.  As 
Moh-Kwa  pulls  the  bush  towards  him,  he  pierces 
his  paw  with  a  great  thorn  so  that  it  makes  him 
howl  an'  shout,  for  much  is  his  rage  an'  pain. 
Moh-Kwa  cannot  get  the  great  thorn  out;  be 
cause  Moh-Kwa's  claws  while  sharp  an'  strong 
are  not  fingers  to  pull  out  a  thorn;  an'  the  more 
Moh-Kwa  bites  his  paw  to  get  at  the  thorn,  the 
further  he  pushes  it  in.  At  last  Moh-Kwa  sits 
growling  an'  looking  at  the  thorn  an'  wondering 
what  he  is  to  do. 

While  Moh-Kwa  is  wondering  an'  growling, 
there  comes  walking  Shaw-shaw,  the  Swallow, 
who  is  a  young  man  of  the  Sioux.  The  Swallow 
has  a  good  heart ;  but  his  spirit  is  light  an'  his 
nature  as  easily  blown  about  on  each  new  wind  as 
a  dead  leaf.  So  the  Sioux  have  no  respect  for  the 

261 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Swallow  but  laugh  when  he  comes  among  them, 
an'  some  even  call  him  Shau-goh-dah-wah,  the 
Coward,  for  they  do  not  look  close,  an'  mistake 
lightness  for  fear. 

When  the  Swallow  came  near,  Moh-Kwa,  still 
growling,  held  forth  his  paw  an'  showed  the  Swal 
low  how  the  thorn  was  buried  in  the  big  pad  so 
that  he  could  not  bite  it  out  an'  only  made  it  go 
deeper.  An'  with  that  the  Swallow,  who  had  a 
good  heart,  took  Moh-Kwa's  big  paw  between 
his  knees  an'  pulled  out  the  great  thorn;  for  the 
Swallow  had  ringers  an'  not  claws  like  Moh-Kwa, 
an'  the  Swallow's  fingers  were  deft  an'  nimble  to 
do  any  desired  deed. 

When  Moh-Kwa  felt  the  relief  of  that  great 
thorn  out  of  his  paw,  he  was  grateful  to  the  Swal 
low  an'  thought  to  do  him  a  favor. 

:<  You  are  laughed  at,"  said  Moh-Kwa  to  the 
Swallow,  "  because  your  spirit  is  light  as  dead 
leaves  an'  too  much  blown  about  like  a  tumble- 
weed  wasting  its  seeds  in  foolish  travelings  to  go 
nowhere  for  no  purpose  so  that  only  it  goes. 
Your  heart  is  good,  but  your  work  is  of  no  con 
sequence,  an'  your  name  will  win  no  respect;  an' 
with  years  you  will  be  hated  since  you  will  do  no 
great  deeds.  Already  men  call  you  Shau-goh- 
dah-wah,  the  Coward.  I  am  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise 
Bear  of  the  Yellowstone,  an'  I  would  do  you  a 
favor  for  taking  my  paw  an'  the  thorn  apart. 
But  I  cannot  change  your  nature;  only  Pau-guk, 

262 


KWA-SIND. 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

the  Death,  can  do  that;  an'  no  man  may  touch 
Pau-guk  an'  live.  Yet  for  a  favor  I  will  give  you 
three  gifts,  which  if  you  keep  safe  will  make  you 
rich  an'  strong  an'  happy;  an'  all  men  will  love 
you  an'  no  longer  think  to  call  you  Shau-goh-dah- 
wah,  the  Coward." 

Moh-Kwa  when  he  had  ended  this  long  talk, 
licked  his  paw  where  had  been  the  great  thorn, 
an'  now  that  the  smart  was  gone  an'  he  could  put 
his  foot  to  the  ground  an'  not  howl,  he  took  the 
Swallow  an'  carried  him  to  his  house  in  the  rocks. 
An'  Moh-Kwa  gave  the  Swallow  a  knife,  a  neck 
lace  of  bear-claws,  an'  a  buffalo  robe. 

"  While  you  carry  the  knife,"  said  Moh-Kwa, 
"  all  men  will  respect  an'  fear  you  an'  the  squaws 
will  cherish  you  in  their  hearts.  While  you  wear 
the  bear-claws,  you  will  be  brave  an'  strong,  an' 
whatever  you  want  you  will  get.  As  for  the  skin 
of  the  buffalo,  it  is  big  medicine,  an'  if  you  sit 
upon  it  an'  wish,  it  will  carry  you  wherever  you 
ask  to  go." 

Besides  the  knife,  the  bear-claws  an'  the  big 
medicine  robe,  Moh-Kwa  gave  the  Swallow  the 
thorn  he  had  pulled  from  his  foot,  telling  him  to 
sew  it  in  his  moccasin,  an'  when  he  was  in  trouble 
it  would  bring  Moh-Kwa  to  him  to  be  a  help. 
Also,  Moh-Kwa  warned  the  Swallow  to  beware 
of  a  cunning  squaw. 

"  For,"  said  Moh-Kwa,  "  your  nature  is  light 


263 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

like  dead  leaves,  an'  such  as  you  seek  ever  to  be 
a  fool  about  a  cunning  squaw." 

When  the  Swallow  came  again  among  the  Sioux 
he  wore  the  knife  an'  the  bear-claws  that  Moh- 
Kwa  had  given  him;  an'  in  his  lodge  he  spread 
the  big  medicine  robe.  An'  because  of  the  knife 
an'  the  bear-claws,  the  warriors  respected  an' 
feared  him,  an'  the  squaws  loved  him  in  their 
hearts  an'  followed  where  he  went  with  their  eyes. 
Also,  when  he  wanted  anything,  the  Swallow  ever 
got  it;  an'  as  he  was  swift  an'  ready  to  want 
things,  the  Swallow  grew  quickly  rich  among  the 
Sioux,  an'  his  lodge  was  full  of  robes  an'  furs  an' 
weapons  an'  new  dresses  of  skins  an'  feathers, 
while  more  than  fifty  ponies  ate  the  grass  about  it. 

Now,  this  made  Kwa-Sind,  the  Strong  Man, 
angry  in  his  soul's  soul;  for  Kwa-Sind  was  a 
mighty  Sioux,  an'  had  killed  a  Pawnee  for  each 
of  his  fingers,  an'  a  Blackfoot  an'  a  Crow  for 
each  of  his  toes,  an'  it  made  his  breast  sore 
to  see  the  Swallow,  who  had  been  also  called 
Shau-goh-dah-wah,  the  Coward,  thought  higher 
among  the  Sioux  an'  be  a  richer  man  than  himself. 
Yet  Kwa-Sind  was  afraid  to  kill  the  Swallow  lest 
the  Sioux  who  now  sung  the  Swallow's  praises 
should  rise  against  him  for  revenge. 

Kwa-Sind  told  his  hate  to  Wah-bee-noh,  who 
was  a  medicine  man  an'  juggler,  an'  agreed  that 
he  would  give  Wah-bee-noh  twenty  ponies  to 
make  the  Swallow  again  as  he  was  so  that  the 

264 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

Sioux  would  laugh  at  him  an'  call  him  Shau-goh- 
dah-wah,  the  Coward. 

Wah-bee-noh,  the  medicine  man,  was  glad  to 
hear  the  offer  of  Kwa-Sind,  for  he  was  a  miser  an' 
thought  only  how  he  might  add  another  pony  to 
his  herd.  Wah-bee-noh  told  Kwa-Sind  he  would 
surely  do  as  he  asked,  an'  that  the  Swallow  within 
three  moons  would  be  despised  among  all  the 
Sioux. 

Wah-bee-noh  went  to  his  lodge  an'  made  his 
strongest  medicine  an'  called  Jee-bi,  the  Spirit. 
An'  Jee-bi,  the  Spirit,  told  Wah-bee-noh  of  the 
Swallow's  knife  an'  bear-claws  an'  the  medicine 
robe. 

An'  now  Wah-bee-noh  made  a  plan  an'  gave  it 
to  his  daughter  who  was  called  Oh-pee-chee,  the 
Robin,  to  carry  out;  for  the  Robin  was  full  of 
craft  an'  cunning,  an'  moreover,  beautiful  among 
the  young  girls  of  the  Sioux. 

The  Robin  dressed  herself  until  she  was  like 
the  red  bird ;  an'  then  she  walked  up  an'  down 
in  front  of  the  lodge  of  the  Swallow.  An'  when 
the  Swallow  saw  her,  his  nature  which  was  light 
as  dead  leaves  at  once  became  drawn  to  the 
Robin,  an'  the  Swallow  laughed  an'  made  a  place 
by  his  side  for  the  Robin  to  sit  down.  With  that 
the  Robin  came  an'  sat  by  his  side;  an'  after  a 
little  she  sang  to  him  Ewah-yeah,  the  Sleep-song, 
an'  the  Swallow  was  overcome;  his  eyes  closed 


265 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

an'  slumber  settled  down  upon  him  like  a  night- 
fog. 

Then  the  Robin  stole  the  knife  from  its  sheath 
an'  the  bear-claws  from  about  the  neck  of  the 
Swallow;  but  the  medicine  robe  the  Robin  could 
not  get  because  the  Swallow  was  asleep  upon  it, 
an'  if  she  pulled  it  from  beneath  him  he  would 
wake  up. 

The  Robin  took  the  knife  an'  the  bear-claws  an* 
carried  them  to  Wah-bee-noh,  her  father,  who  got 
twelve  ponies  from  Kwa-Sind  for  them  an'  added 
the  ponies  to  his  herd.  An'  the  heart  of  Wah- 
bee-noh  danced  the  miser's  dance  of  gain  in  his 
bosom  from  mere  gladness ;  an'  because  he  would 
have  eight  more  ponies  from  Kwa-Sind,  he  sent 
the  Robin  back  to  steal  the  medicine  robe  when 
the  Swallow  should  wake  up. 

The  Robin  went  back,  an'  finding  the  Swallow 
still  asleep  on  the  medicine  robe,  lay  down  by  his 
side;  an'  soon  she  too  fell  asleep,  for  the  Robin 
was  a  very  tired  squaw  since  to  be  cunning  an' 
full  of  craft  is  hard  work  an'  soon  wearies  one. 

When  the  Swallow  woke  up  he  missed  his  knife 
an'  bear-claws.  Also,  he  remembered  that  Moh- 
Kwa  had  warned  him  for  the  lightness  of  his 
spirit  to  beware  of  a  cunning  squaw.  When  these 
thoughts  came  to  the  Swallow,  an'  seeing  the 
Robin  still  sleeping  by  his  side,  he  knew  well  that 
she  had  stolen  his  knife  an'  bear-claws. 

Now,  the  Swallow  fell  into  a  great  anger  an' 
266 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

thought  an'  thought  what  he  should  do  to  make 
the  Robin  return  the  knife  an'  bear-claws  she  had 
stolen.  Without  them  the  Sioux  would  laugh  at 
him  an'  despise  him  as  before,  an'  many  would 
again  call  him  Shau-goh-dah-wah,  the  Coward, 
an'  the  name  bit  into  the  Swallow's  heart  like  a 
rattlesnake  an'  poisoned  it  with  much  grief. 

While  the  Swallow  thought  an'  the  Robin  still 
lay  sleeping,  a  plan  came  to  him;  an'  with  that, 
the  Swallow  seeing  he  was  with  the  Robin  lying 
on  the  medicine  robe,  sat  up  an'  wished  that  both 
himself  an'  the  Robin  were  in  a  far  land  of  rocks 
an'  sand  where  a  great  pack  of  wolves  lived. 

Like  the  flash  an'  the  flight  of  an  arrow,  the 
Swallow  with  the  Robin  still  asleep  by  his  side, 
an'  with  the  medicine  robe  still  beneath  them  on 
the  ground,  found  himself  in  a  desolate  land  of 
rocks  an'  sands,  an'  all  about  him  came  a  band 
of  wolves  who  yelped  an'  showed  their  teeth  with 
the  hunger  that  gnawed  their  flanks. 

Because  the  wolves  yelped,  the  Robin  waked 
up;  an'  when  she  saw  their  white  teeth  shining 
with  hunger  she  fell  down  from  a  big  fear  an' 
cried  an'  twisted  one  hand  with  the  other,  think 
ing  Pau-guk,  the  Death,  was  on  his  way  to  get 
her.  The  Robin  wept  an'  turned  to  the  Swallow 
an'  begged  him  to  put  her  back  before  the  lodge 
of  Wah-bee-noh,  her  father. 

But  the  Swallow,  with  the  anger  of  him  who 
is  robbed,  spoke  hard  words  out  of  his  mouth. 

267 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

"  Give  me  back  the  knife  an'  the  bear-claws 
you  have  stolen.  You  are  a  bad  squaw,  full  of 
cunning  an'  very  crafty;  but  here  I  shall  keep 
you  an'  feed  you — legs  an'  arms  an'  head  an' 
body — to  my  wolf-friends  who  yelp  an'  show 
their  teeth  out  yonder,  unless  I  have  my  knife 
an'  bear-claws  again." 

This  brought  more  fear  on  the  Robin,  an'  she 
felt  that  the  Swallow's  words  were  as  a  shout  for 
Pau-guk,  the  Death,  to  make  haste  an'  claim  her ; 
yet  her  cunning  was  not  stampeded  but  stood 
firm  in  her  heart. 

The  Robin  said  that  the  Swallow  must  give  her 
time  to  grow  calm  an'  then  she  would  find  the 
knife  an'  bear-claws  for  him.  While  the  Swallow 
waited,  the  Robin  still  wept  an'  sobbed  for  fear 
of  the  white  teeth  of  the  wolves  who  stood  in  a 
circle  about  them.  But  little  by  little,  the  crafty 
Robin  turned  her  sobs  softly  into  Ewah-yeah,  the 
Sleep-song;  an'  soon  slumber  again  tied  the  hands 
an'  feet  an'  stole  the  eyes  of  the  Swallow. 

Now  the  Robin  did  not  hesitate.  She  tore  the 
big  medicine  robe  from  beneath  the  Swallow; 
throwing  herself  into  its  folds,  the  Robin  wished 
herself  again  before  Wah-bee-noh's  lodge,  an' 
with  that  the  robe  rushed  with  her  away  across 
the  skies  like  the  swoop  of  a  hawk.  The  Swallow 
was  only  awake  in  time  to  see  the  Robin  go  out 
of  sight  like  a  bee  hunting  its  hive. 

Now  the  Swallow  was  so  cast  down  with  shame 
268 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

that  he  thought  he  would  call  Pau-guk,  the  Death, 
an'  give  himself  to  the  wolves  who  sat  watching 
with  their  hungry  eyes.  But  soon  his  heart  came 
back,  an'  his  spirit  which  was  light  as  dead  leaves, 
stirred  about  hopefully  in  his  bosom. 

While  he  considered  what  he  should  now  do, 
helpless  an'  hungry,  in  this  desolate  stretch  of 
rocks  an'  sand  an'  no  water,  the  thorn  which  had 
been  in  Moh-Kwa's  paw  pricked  his  foot  where 
it  lay  sewed  in  his  moccasin.  With  that  the  Swal 
low  wished  he  might  only  see  the  Wise  Bear  to 
tell  him  his  troubles. 

As  the  Swallow  made  this  wish,  an'  as  if  to 
answer  it,  he  saw  Moh-Kwa  coming  across  the 
rocks  an'  the  sand.  When  the  wolves  saw  Moh- 
Kwa,  they  gave  a  last  howl  an'  ran  for  their 
hiding  places. 

Moh-Kwa  himself  said  nothing  when  he  came 
up,  an'  the  Swallow  spoke  not  for  shame  but  lay 
quiet  while  Moh-Kwa  took  him  by  the  belt  which 
was  about  his  middle  an'  throwing  him  over  his 
shoulder  as  if  the  Swallow  were  a  dead  deer,  gal 
loped  off  like  the  wind  for  his  own  house. 

When  Moh-Kwa  had  reached  his  house,  he 
gave  the  Swallow  a  piece  of  buffalo  meat  to  eat. 
Then  Moh-Kwa  said: 

"  Because  you  would  be  a  fool  over  a  beautiful 
squaw  who  was  cunning,  you  have  lost  my  three 
gifts  that  were  your  fortune  an'  good  fame.  Still, 
because  you  were  only  a  fool,  I  will  get  them 

269 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

back  for  you.  You  must  stay  here,  for  you  can 
not  help  since  your  spirit  is  as  light  as  dead  leaves, 
an'  would  not  be  steady  for  so  long  a  trail  an' 
one  which  calls  for  so  much  care  to  follow." 

Then  Moh-Kwa  went  to  the  door  of  his  house 
an'  called  his  three  friends,  Sug-gee-mah,  the 
Mosquito,  Sub-bee-kah-shee,  the  Spider,  an' 
Wah-wah-tah-see,  the  Firefly;  an'  to  these  he 
said: 

"  Because  you  are  great  warriors  an'  fear  noth 
ing  in  your  hearts  I  have  called  you." 

An'  at  that,  Wah-wah-tah-see,  an'  Sub-bee-kah- 
shee,  an'  Sug-gee-mah  stood  very  straight  an' 
high,  for  being  little  men  it  made  them  proud 
because  so  big  a  bear  as  Moh-Kwa  had  called 
them  to  be  his  help. 

"  To  you,  Sub-bee-kah-shee,"  said  Moh-Kwa, 
turning  to  the  Spider,  "  I  leave  Kwa-Sind;  to  you, 
Wah-wah-tah-see,  the  Firefly,  falls  the  honor  of 
slaying  Wah-bee-noh,  the  bad  medicine  man; 
while  unto  you,  Sug-gee-mah  descends  the  hard 
est  task,  for  you  must  fight  a  great  battle  with 
Nee-pah-win,  the  Sleep." 

Moh-Kwa  gave  his  orders  to  his  three  friends; 
an'  with  that  Sub-bee-kah-shee,  crept  to  the  side 
of  Kwa-Sind  where  he  slept  an'  bit  him  on  the 
cheek;  an'  Kwa-Sind  turned  first  gray  an'  then 
black  with  the  spider's  venom,  an'  then  died  in 
the  hands  of  Pau-guk,  the  Death,  who  had  fol 
lowed  the  Spider  to  Kwa-Sind's  lodge. 

270 


THE  MEDICINE  MAN. 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

While  this  was  going  forward,  Wah-wah-tah-see, 
the  Firefly,  came  as  swift  as  wing  could  carry  to 
the  lodge  where  Wah-bee-noh  was  asleep  rolled 
up  in  a  bear-skin.  Wah-bee-noh  was  happy,  for 
with  the  big  medicine  robe  which  the  Robin  had 
brought  him,  he  already  had  bought  the  eight 
further  ponies  from  Kwa-Sind  an'  they  then 
grazed  in  Wah-bee-noh's  herd.  As  Wah-bee-noh 
laughed  in  his  sleep  because  he  dreamed  of  the 
twenty  ponies  he  had  earned  from  Kwa-Sind,  the 
Firefly  stooped  an'  stung  him  inside  his  mouth. 
An'  so  perished  Wah-bee-noh  in  a  flame  of  fever, 
for  the  poison  of  Wah-wah-tah-see,  the  Firefly, 
burns  one  to  death  like  live  coals. 

Sug-gee-mah,  the  Mosquito,  found  Nee-pah- 
win,  the  Sleep,  holding  the  Robin  fast.  But  Sug- 
gee-mah  was  stout,  an'  he  stooped  an'  stung  the 
Sleep  so  hard  he  let  go  of  the  Robin  an'  stood 
up  to  fight. 

All  night  an'  all  day  an'  all  night,  an'  yet  many 
days  an'  nights,  did  Sug-gee-mah,  the  'bold  Mos 
quito,  an'  Nee-pah-win,  the  Sleep,  fight  for  the 
Robin.  An'  whenever  Nee-pah-win,  the  Sleep, 
would  take  the  Robin  in  his  arms,  'Sug-gee-mah, 
the  Mosquito>  would  strike  him  with  his  little 
lance.  For  many  days  an'  nights  did  Sug-gee- 
mah,  the  Mosquito,  hold  Nee-pah-win,  the  Sleep, 
at  bay;  an'  in  the  end  the  Robin  turned  wild  an' 
crazy,  for  unless  Nee-pah-win,  the  Sleep,  takes 
each  man  an'  woman  in  his  arms  when  the  sun 

271 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

goes  down  it  is  as  if  they  were  bitten  by  the  evil 
polecats  who  are  rabid;  an'  the  men  an'  women 
who  are  not  held  in  the  arms  of  Nee-pah-win  go 
mad  an'  rave  like  starved  wolves  till  they  die. 
An'  thus  it  was  with  the  Robin.  After  many  days 
an'  nights,  Pau-guk,  the  Death,  came  for  her  also, 
an'  those  three  who  had  done  evil  to  the  Swallow 
were  punished. 

Moh-Kwa,  collecting  the  knife,  the  bear-claws 
an'  the  big  medicine  robe  from  the  lodge  of  Kwa- 
Sind,  gave  them  to  the  Swallow  again.  This 
time  the  Swallow  stood  better  guard,  an'  no 
squaw,  however  cunning,  might  make  a  fool  of 
him — though  many  tried — so  he  kept  his  knife, 
the  bear-claws,  an'  the  big  medicine  robe  these 
many  years  while  he  lived. 

As  for  Sub-bee-kah-shee,  the  Spider,  an'  Wah- 
wah-tah-see,  the  Firefly,  an'  Sug-gee-mah,  the 
brave  Mosquito,  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  for 
a  reward  gave  them  an'  their  countless  squaws 
an'  papooses  forever  that  fine  swamp  where 
Apuk-wah,  the  Bulrush,  grows  thick  an'  green, 
an'  makes  a  best  hunting  grounds  for  the  three 
little  warriors  who  killed  Kwa-Sind,  Wah-bee- 
noh,  an'  the  Robin  on  that  day  when  Moh-Kwa 
called  them  his  enemies.  An'  now  when  every 
man  was  at  peace  an'  happy,  Moh-Kwa  brought 
the  Sioux  together  an'  re-named  the  Swallow 
"  Thorn-Puller;"  an'  by  that  name  was  he  known 
till  he  died. 

272 


MOH-KWA  AND  THE  THREE  GIFTS. 

"  How  many  are  there  of  these  Sioux  folk-lore 
tales?  "  asked  the  Jolly  Doctor  of  Sioux  Sam. 

"How  many  leaves  in  June?"  asked  Sioux 
Sam.  "  If  our  Great  Medicine  " — so  he  called 
the  Jolly  Doctor — "  were  with  the  Dakotahs,  the 
old  men  an'  the  squaws  would  tell  him  a  fresh 
one  for  every  fresh  hour  of  his  life.  There  is  no 
end." 

While  the  Jolly  Doctor  was  reflecting  on  this 
reply,  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  raising  his  glass 
of  burgundy  to  the  Sour  Gentleman  who  returned 
the  compliment  in  whiskey,  said : 

"  My  respects  to  you,  sir;  and  may  we  hope 
you  will  now  give  us  that  adventure  of  The  Ger 
man  Girl's  Diamonds  ?  " 

"  I  shall  have  the  utmost  pleasure,"  responded 
the  Sour  Gentleman.  "  You  may  not  consider 
it  of  mighty  value  as  a  story,  but  perhaps  as  a 
chapter  in  former  Custom's  iniquity  one  may 
concede  it  a  use." 

18 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  GERMAN  GIRI/S  DIAMONDS. 

It  cannot  be  said,  my  friends,  that  I  liked  my 
position  in  that  sink  of  evil,  the  New  York  Cus 
toms.  I  was  on  good  terms  with  my  comrades, 
but  I  founded  no  friendships  among  them.  It 
has  been  and  still  is  a  belief  of  mine,  and  one 
formed  at  an  early  age,  that  everybody  wears 
suggestive  resemblance  to  some  bird  or  fish  or 
beast.  I've  seen  a  human  serpent's  face,  trian 
gular,  poisonous,  menacing  with  ophidian  eyes; 
I've  seen  a  dove's  face,  soft,  gentle,  harmless,  and 
with  lips  that  cooed  as  they  framed  and  uttered 
words.  And  there  are  faces  to  remind  one  of 
dogs,  of  sheep,  of  apes,  of  swine,  of  eagles,  of 
pike — ravenous,  wide-mouthed,  swift.  I've  even 
encountered  a  bear's  face  on  Broadway — one  full 
of  a  window-peering  curiosity,  yet  showing  a  con 
tented,  sluggish  sagacity  withal.  And  every  face 
about  me  in  the  Customs  would  carry  out  my 
theory.  As  I  glanced  from  Lorns  to  Quin,  and 
from  Quin  to  another,  and  so  to  the  last  upon 
the  list,  I  beheld  reflected  as  in  a  glass,  a  hawk, 
or  an  owl,  or  a  wolf,  or  a  fox,  or  a  ferret,  or  even 

274 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

a  cat.  But  each  rapacious;  each  stamped  with 
the  instinct  of  predation  as  though  the  word 
"  Wolf  "  were  written  across  his  forehead.  Even 
Betelnut  Jack  gave  one  the  impression  that  be 
longs  with  some  old,  rusty  black-eagle  with  worn 
and  tumbled  plumage.  I  took  no  joy  of  my 
comrades;  saw  no  more  of  them  than  I  might; 
despised  my  trade  of  land-pirate — for  what  better 
could  it  be  called? — and  following  that  warning 
from  "  Josephus  "  was  ever  haunted  of  a  weird 
fear  of  what  might  come.  Still,  I  remained  and 
claimed  my  loot  with  the  rest.  And  you  ask 
why?  When  all  is  said,  I  was  as  voracious  as  the 
others ;  I  clinked  the  coins  in  my  pocket,  and  con 
soled  myself  against  the  foul  character  of  such 
profits  with  that  thought  of  Vespasian :  "  The 
smell  of  all  money  is  sweet." 

Following  my  downfall  of  tobacco,  I  had  given 
up  my  rich  apartments  in  Twenty-second  Street; 
and  while  I  retained  my  membership,  I  went  no 
more  to  the  two  or  three  clubs  into  which  I'd 
been  received.  In  truth,  these  Custom  House 
days  I  seldom  strolled  as  far  northward  as 
Twenty-third  Street ;  but  taking  a  couple  of  mod 
erate  rooms  to  the  south  of  Washington  Square, 
I  stuck  to  them  or  to  the  park  in  front  as  much 
as  ever  I  might ;  passing  a  lonely  life  and  meeting 
none  I'd  known  before. 

One  sun-filled  September  afternoon,  being  free 
at  that  hour,  I  was  occupying  a  bench  in  Wash- 

275 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

ington  Square,  amusing  my  idleness  with  the 
shadows  chequered  across  the  walk  by  an  over 
spreading  tree.  A  sound  caught  my  ear;  I 
looked  up  to  be  mildly  amazed  by  the  appearance 
of  Betelnut  Jack.  It  was  seldom  my  chief  was 
found  so  far  from  his  eyrie  in  the  Bowery;  evi 
dently  he  was  seeking  me.  His  first  words 
averred  as  much. 

"  I  was  over  to  your  rooms,"  remarked  Betel- 
nut  Jack;  "  they  told  me  you  were  here." 

Then  he  gave  me  a  pure  Havana — for  we  of 
the  Customs  might  smoke  what  cigars  we  would 
— lighted  another  and  betook  himself  to  a  few 
moments  of  fragrant,  wordless  tranquility.  I  was 
aware,  of  course,  that  Betelnut  Jack  had  a  pur 
pose  in  coming;  but  curiosity  was  never  among 
my  vices,  and  I  did  not  ask  his  mission.  With  a 
feeling  of  indifference,  I  awaited  its  development 
in  his  own  good  way  and  time. 

Betelnut  Jack  was  more  apt  to  listen  than  talk ; 
but  upon  this  Washington  Square  afternoon,  he 
so  far  departed  those  habits  of  taciturnity  com 
monly  his  own  as  to  furnish  the  weight  of  conver 
sation.  He  did  not  hurry  to  his  business,  but 
rambled  among  a  score  of  topics.  He  even  de 
scribed  to  me  by  what  accident  he  arrived  at  his 
by-name  of  Betelnut  Jack.  He  said  he  was  a 
sailor  in  his  youth.  Then  he  related  how  he  went 
on  deep  water  ships  to  India  and  to  the  China 
seas ;  how  he  learned  to  chew  betel  from  the  Ori- 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

entals;  how  after  he  came  ashore  he  was  still  ad 
dicted  to  betel ;  how  a  physician,  ignorant  of  betel 
and  its  crimson  consequences,  fell  into  vast  excite 
ment  over  what  he  concevied  to  be  a  perilous 
hemorrhage;  and  how  before  Jack  could  explain, 
seized  on  him  and  hurried  him  into  a  near-by  drug 
shop.  When  he  understood  his  mistake,  the 
physician  took  it  in  dudgeon,  and  was  in 
clined  to  blame  Jack  for  those  sanguinary  yet 
fraudulent  symptoms.  One  result  of  the  adven 
ture  was  to  re-christen  him  "Betelnut  Jack,"  the 
name  still  sticking,  albeit  he  had  for  long  aban 
doned  betel  as  a  taste  outgrown. 

Betelnut  Jack  continued  touching  his  career 
in  New  York;  always  with  caution,  however, 
slurring  some  parts  and  jumping  others;  from 
which  I  argued  that  portions  of  my  chief's  story 
were  made  better  by  not  being  divulged.  It 
occurred,  too,  as  a  deduction  drawn  from  his  con 
fidences  that  Betelnut  Jack  had  been  valorous  as 
a  Know-Nothing;  and  he  spoke  with  rapture  of 
the  great  prize-fighter,  Tom  Hyer,  who  beat 
Yankee  Sullivan;  and  then  of  the  fistic  virtues  of 
the  brave  Bill  Poole,  coming  near  to  tears  as  he 
set  forth  the  latter's  murder  in  Stanwix  Hall. 

Also,  I  gathered  that  Betelnut  Jack  had  been 
no  laggard  at  hurling  stones  and  smashing  win 
dows  in  the  Astor  Place  riot  of  1849. 

"  And  the  soldiers  killed  one  hundred  and 
thirty-four,"  sighed  Betelnut  Jack,  when  de- 

277 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

scribing  the  battle;  "and  wounded  four  times  as 
many  more.  And  all,  mind  you!  for  a  no-good 
English  actor  with  an  Irish  name !  "  This  last  in 
accents  of  profound  disgust. 

In  the  end  Betelnut  Jack  began  to  wax  uneasy; 
it  was  apparent  how  he  yearned  for  his  nest  in  the 
familiar  Bowery.  With  that  he  came  bluntly  to 
the  purpose. 

"  To-morrow,  early,"  he  said,  "  take  one  of  the 
women  inspectors  and  go  down  to  quarantine. 
Some  time  in  the  course  of  the  day,  the  steamship 
'  Wolfgang/  from  Bremen,  will  arrive.  Go 
aboard  at  once.  In  the  second  cabin  you  will 
find  a  tall,  gray,  old  German;  thin,  with  longish 
hair.  He  may  have  on  dark  goggles ;  if  he  hasn't, 
you  will  observe  that  he  is  blind  of  the  right  eye. 
His  daughter,  a  girl  of  twenty-three,  will  be  with 
him.  Her  hair  will  be  done  up  in  that  heavy  roll 
which  hair-dressers  call  the  '  waterfall/  and  hang 
in  a  silk  close-meshed  net  low  on  her  neck.  Hid 
den  in  the  girl's  hair  are  diamonds  of  a  Berlin 
value  of  over  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
dollars.  You  will  search  the  old  man,  and  have 
the  woman  inspector  search  the  girl.  Don't  con 
duct  yourselves  as  though  you  knew  what  you 
were  looking  for.  Tell  your  assistant  to  find  the 
girl's  diamonds  naturally;  let  her  work  to  them 
by  degrees,  not  swoop  on  them." 

Then  Betelnut  Jack  disposed  himself  for  home- 


278 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

ward  flight.  I  asked  how  he  became  aware  of 
the  jewels  and  the  place  of  their  concealment. 

"  Never  mind  that  now,"  was  his  reply;  "  you'll 
know  later.  But  get  the  diamonds ;  they're  there 
and  you  must  not  fail.  I've  come  for  you,  as 
you're  more  capable  of  doing  the  gentleman  than 
some  of  the  others,  and  this  is  a  case  where  a 
dash  of  refinement  won't  hurt  the  trick." 

With  that  Betelnut  Jack  lounged  over  to 
Fourth  Street  and  disappeared  towards  Broad 
way  and  the  Bowery  further  east. 

Following  my  chief's  departure,  I  continued  in 
idle  contemplation  of  the  shadows.  This  occupa 
tion  did  not  forbid  a  mental  looking  up  and  down 
of  what  would  be  my  next  day's  work.  The 
prospect  was  far  from  refreshing.  When  one  is 
under  thirty,  a  proposal  to  plunder  a  girl — a 
beautiful  girl,  doubtless — of  her  diamonds,  does 
not  appeal  to  one.  There  would  be  woe,  tears, 
lamentations,  misery  with  much  wringing  of 
hands.  I  began  to  call  myself  a  villain. 

Then,  as  against  her,  and  defensive  of  myself, 
I  argued  the  outlaw  character  of  the  girl's  work. 
Be  she  beautiful  or  be  she  favored  ill,  still  she  is 
breaking  the  law.  It  was  our  oath  to  seize  the 
gems ;  whatever  of  later  wrong  was  acted,  at  best 
or  worst,  it  was  no  wrong  done  her.  In  truth ! 
when  she  was  at  last  left  free  and  at  liberty,  she 
would  be  favored  beyond  her  deserts;  for  those 


279 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Customs  laws  which  she  was  cheating  spoke  of 
grates  and  keys  and  bars  and  bolts. 

In  this  wise,  and  as  much  as  might  be,  I  com 
forted  myself  against  the  disgrace  of  an  enterprise 
from  which  I  naturally  recoiled,  hardening  myself 
as  to  the  poor  girl  marked  to  be  our  prey.  I 
confess  I  gained  no  great  success;  say  what  I 
might,  I  contemned  myself. 

While  thus  ruminating  that  dishonor  into 
which  I  conceived  myself  to  have  fallen,  I  recalled 
a  story  written  by  Edgar  Allen  Poe.  It  is  a 
sketch  wherein  a  wicked  man  is  ever  followed  and 
thwarted  by  one  who  lives  his  exact  semblance  in 
each  line  of  face  and  form.  This  doppel-ganger, 
as  the  Germans  name  him,  while  the  same  with 
himself  in  appearance  and  dress,  is  his  precise 
opposite  in  moral  nature.  This  struggle  between 
the  haunted  one  and  his  weird,  begins  in  boyhood 
and  continues  till  middle  age.  At  the  last,  frantic 
under  a  final  opposition,  the  haunted  one  draws 
sword  and  slays  his  enemy.  Too  late,  as  he  wipes 
the  blood  from  his  blade,  he  finds  that  he  has 
killed  his  better  self;  too  late  he  sees  that  from 
that  time  to  the  end,  the  present  will  have  no  hope, 
the  future  hold  no  heaven ;  that  he  must  sink  and 
sink  and  sink,  until  he  is  grasped  by  those  hands 
outstretched  of  hell  to  forever  have  him  for  their 
horrid  own.  I  wondered  if  I  were  not  like  that 
man  unhappy;  I  asked  if  I  did  not,  by  these  vari 
ous  defenses  and  apologies  which  I  made  ever  for 

280 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

my  wickedness,  work  towards  the  death  of  my 
better  nature  whose  destruction  when  it  did  come 
would  mean  the  departure  forever  of  my  soul's 
chance. 

I  stood  up  and  shook  myself  in  a  canine  way. 
Decidedly,  loneliness  was  making  me  morbid! 
However  that  may  have  been,  I  passed  a  far  from 
happy  afternoon. 

Fairly  speaking,  these  contentions  shook  me 
somewhat  in  my  resolves.  There  were  moments 
when  I  determined  to  refuse  my  diamond-hunting 
commission  and  resign  my  place.  I  even  settled 
the  style  of  my  resignation;  it  should  be  full  of 
sarcasm. 

But  alas!  these  white  dreams  faded;  in  the  end 
I  was  ready  to  execute  the  orders  of  Betelnut 
Jack;  and  that  which  decided  me  was  surely  the 
weakest  thought  of  all.  Somehow,  I  had  in  my 
thoughts  put  down  the  coming  German  maiden 
as  beautiful;  Betelnut  Jack  had  said  her  age  was 
twenty-three,  which  helped  me  to  this  thought  of 
girlish  loveliness.  Thus,  my  imaginings  worked 
in  favor  of  the  girl. 

But  next  the  thought  fell  blackly  that  she 
would  some  day — probably  a  near  day — love 
some  man  unknown  and  marry  him.  Possibly  this 
lover  she  already  knew;  perhaps  he  was  here 
and  she  on  her  way  to  meet  him!  This  will 
sound  like  jest;  it  will  earn  derision  from  health 
ful,  balanced  spirits;  and  yet  I  tell  but  the  truth. 

281 


THE  BLACK  LlbN  INN. 

I  experienced  a  vague,  resentful  jealousy,  hated 
this  imagined  lover  of  a  girl  I'd  never  met,  and 
waxed  contemptuous  of  aught  of  leniency  to 
wards  one  or  both.  I  would  do  as  Betelnut  Jack 
ordered;  I  would  go  down  to  quarantine  on  the 
morrow;  and  I  would  find  the  diamonds. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  with  a  woman 
assistant,  I  boarded  the  "  Wolfgang  "  in  the  Nar 
rows.  My  aged  German  was  readily  picked  up; 
his  daughter  was  with  him.  And  her  beauty  was 
as  I'd  painted  on  the  canvas  of  my  thoughts. 
Yet  when  I  beheld  the  loveliness  which  should 
have  melted  me,  I  recalled  that  lover  to  whose 
arms  she  might  be  coming  and  was  hardened  be 
yond  recall.  I  told  the  inspectress  to  take  her 
into  her  private  room  and  find  the  diamonds. 
With  that,  I  turned  my  back  and  strolled  to  the 
forward  deck.  Even  at  that  distance  I  heard  the 
shriek  of  the  girl  when  her  treasure  was  discov 
ered. 

"  There  will  be  less  for  the  lover !  "  I  thought. 

When  my  woman  assistant — accomplice  might 
be  the  truer  term — joined  me,  she  had  the  jewels. 
They  were  in  a  long  eel-skin  receptacle,  sewed 
tightly,  and  had  been  secreted  in  the  girl's  hair  as 
described  by  Betelnut  Jack.  I  took  the  gems, 
and  buttoning  them  in  my  coat,  told  my  aide — 
who  with  a  feminine  fashion  of  bitterness  seemed 
exultant  over  having  deprived  another  of  her 
gew-gaws — to  arrest  the  girl,  hold  her  until  the 

282 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

boat  docked,  frighten  her  with  tales  of  fetters  and 
dungeons  and  clanging  bars,  and  at  the  last  to 
lose  her  on  the  wharf.  It  would  be  nine  o'clock 
of  the  night  by  then,  and  murk  dark;  this  loss  of 
her  prisoner  would  seem  to  come  honestly  about. 

If  I  were  making  a  romance,  rather  than  bend 
ing  to  a  relation  of  cold,  gray,  hard,  untender 
facts,  I  would  at  this  crisis  defy  Betelnut  Jack, 
rescue  the  beautiful  girl,  restore  her  jewels,  love 
her,  win  her,  wed  her,  and  with  her  true,  dear 
arms  about  me,  live  happy  ever  after.  As  it  was, 
however,  I  did  nothing  of  that  good  sort.  My 
aide  obeyed  directions  in  a  mood  at  once  thor 
ough,  blithe,  and  spiteful,  and  never  more  did  I 
set  eyes  on  the  half-blind  father  or  the  tearful, 
pretty,  poor  victim  of  our  diamond  hunting. 
Lost  in  the  crush  and  bustle  of  the  wharf,  they 
were  never  found,  never  looked  for,  and  never 
rendered  themselves. 

I  had  considered  what  profit  from  these  jewels 
might  accrue  to  the  ring  and  the  means  by  which 
it  would  be  arrived  at.  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
some  substitutional  arts — when  paste  would  take 
the  places  of  old  mine  gems — would  be  resorted 
to  as  in  the  excellent  instance  of  The  Emperor's 
Cigars.  But  Betelnut  Jack  shook  his  careful 
head;  there  would  be  no  hokus-pokus  of  substi 
tution;  there  were  good  reasons.  Also,  there 
was  another  way  secure.  If  our  profits  were 
somewhat  shaved,  our  safety  would  be  aug- 

283 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

mented;  and  Betelnut  Jack's  watchword  was 
"  Safety  first !  "  I  was  bound  to  acquiesce  ;  I  the 
more  readily  did  so  since,  like  Lorns  and  Quin,  I 
had  grown  to  perfect  confidence  in  the  plans  of 
Betelnut  Jack.  However,  when  now  I  had  brushed 
aside  etiquette  and  broken  the  ice  of  the  matter 
with  my  chief,  I  asked  how  he  meant  to  manceuver 
in  the  affair. 

"  Wait !  "  retorted  Betelnut  Jack,  and  that  was 
the  utmost  he  would  say. 

In  due  time  came  the  usual  auction  and  the 
gems  were  sold.  They  were  snapped  up  by  a 
syndicate  of  wise  folk  of  Maiden  Lane  who  paid 
therefor  into  the  hands  of  the  government  the 
even  sum  of  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Still  I  saw  not  how  our  ring  would  have  advan 
tage;  no  way  could  open  for  us  to  handle  those 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  whole  or  in  part. 
I  was  in  error;  a  condition  whereof  I  was  soon 
to  be  made  pleasantly  aware. 

On  the  day  following  the  sale,  and  while  the 
price  paid  still  slept  unbanked  in  the  Customs 
boxes  of  proof-steel,  there  came  one  to  see  our 
canny  chief.  It  is  useless  to  waste  description  on 
this  man.  Suffice  it  that  he  was  in  fact  and  in 
appearance  as  skulkingly  the  coward  scoundrel  as 
might  anywhere  be  met.  This  creeping  creature 
was  shown  into  the  private  rooms  of  Betelnut 
Jack.  A  moment  later,  I  was  sent  for. 

Betelnut  Jack  was  occupying  a  chair;  he  wore 
284 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

an  air  of  easy  confidence;  and  over  that,  a  senti 
ment  of  contempt  for  his  visitor.  This  latter  was 
posed  in  the  middle  of  the  room;  and  while  an 
apprehension  of  impending  evil  showed  on  his 
face,  he  made  cringing  and  deprecatory  gestures 
with  shoulders  hunched  and  palms  turned  out 
ward. 

"  Sit  down,"  observed  Betelnut  Jack,  pushing 
a  chair  towards  me.  When  I  was  seated,  he 
spoke  on.  "  Since  it  was  you  who  found  the 
diamonds,  I  thought  it  right  to  have  you  present 
now.  You  asked  me  once  how  I  knew  in  advance 
of  those  gems  and  their  scheme  of  concealment. 
To-day  you  may  learn.  This  is  the  gentleman 
who  gave  me  the  information.  He  did  it  to 
obtain  the  reward — to  receive  that  great  per  cent, 
of  the  seizure's  proceeds  which  is  promised  the 
informer  by  the  law.  His  information  was  right ; 
he  is  entitled  to  the  reward.  That  is  what  he  is 
here  for;  he  has  come  to  be  paid."  Then  to  the 
hangdog,  cringing  one :  "  Pretty  good  day's  work 
for  you,  eh?  Over  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  a 
little  piece  of  information  is  stiff  pay ! "  The 
hangdog  one  bowed  lower  and  a  smirk  of  partial 
confidence  began  to  broaden  his  face.  "  And 
now  you've  come  for  your  money — fifty  odd 
thousand !  " 

"  If  you  please,  sir !  yes,  sir !  "  More  and  wider 
smirks. 

"  All  right !  "  retorted  Betelnut  Jack.  "  You 
285 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

shall  have  it,  friend ;  but  not  now — not  to-day." 

"  Then  when  ?  "  and  the  smirk  fled. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Betelnut  Jack.  "  To-mor 
row,  next  day,  any  day  in  fact  when  you  bring 
before  me  to  be  witnesses  of  the  transaction  the 
father,  the  sister,  and  your  wife." 

Across  the  face  of  the  hangdog  one  spread  a 
pallor  that  was  as  the  whiteness  of  death.  There 
burned  the  fires  of  a  hot  agony  in  his  eyes  as 
though  a  dirk  had  slowly  pierced  him.  His  voice 
fell  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"  You  would  cheat  me !  " 

"  No;  I  would  do  you  perfect  justice,"  replied 
Betelnut  Jack.  "  Not  a  splinter  do  you  finger 
until  you  bring  your  people.  Your  wife  and  her 
sister  and  their  father  shall  know  this  story,  and 
stand  here  while  the  money  is  paid.  Not  a  stiver 
else !  Now,  go !  " 

Betelnut  Jack's  tones  were  as  remorseless  as  a 
storm ;  they  offered  nothing  to  hope ;  the  hang 
dog  one  heard  and  crept  away  with  a  look  on  his 
face  that  was  but  ill  to  see.  Once  the  door  was 
closed  behind  him,  Betelnut  Jack  turned  with  a 
cheerful  gleam  to  me. 

"  That  ends  him !  It's  as  you  guess.  This  in 
former  is  the  son-in-law  of  the  old  German.  He 
married  the  elder  daughter.  They  came  over 
four  years  ago  and  live  in  Hoboken.  Then  the 
father  and  the  younger  sister  were  to  come. 
They  put  their  whole  fortune  into  the  diamonds, 

286 


THE  GERMAN  GIRL'S  DIAMONDS. 

aiming  to  cheat  the  Customs  and  manage  a  profit; 
and  the  girl  wrote  their  plans  and  how  they  would 
hide  the  jewels  to  her  sister.  It  was  she  who 
told  her  husband — this  fellow  who's  just  sneaked 
out.  He  came  to  me  and  betrayed  them ;  he  was 
willing  to  ruin  the  old  man  and  the  girl  to  win 
riches  for  himself.  But  he's  gone;  he'll  not  re 
turn  ;  we've  seen  and  heard  the  last  of  them ;  one 
fears  the  jail,  the  other  the  wrath  of  his  wife ;  and 
that's  the  end."  Then  Betelnut  Jack,  as  he 
lighted  a  cigar,  spoke  the  word  which  told  to  folk 
initiate  of  a  division  of  spoil  on  the  morrow.  As 
I  arose,  he  said :  "  Ask  Lorns  to  come  here." 


"  Well,"  remarked  the  Old  Cattleman  when  the 
Sour  Gentleman  was  done,  "  I  don't  want  to  say 
nothin'  to  discourage  you-all,  but  if  I'd  picked  up 
your  hand  that  time  I  wouldn't  have  played  it. 
I  shorely  would  have  let  that  Dutch  girl  keep  her 
beads.  Didn't  the  thing  ha'nt  you  afterwards?  " 

"  It  gave  me  a  deal  of  uneasiness,"  responded 
the  Sour  Gentleman.  "  I  am  not  proud  of  my 
performance.  And  yet,  I  don't  see  what  else  I 
might  have  done.  Those  diamonds  were  as  good 
as  in  the  hands  of  Betelnut  Jack  from  the  moment 
the  skulking  brother-in-law  brought  him  the  in 
formation." 

"  It's  one  relief/'    observed  the    Red    Nosed 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Gentleman,  "  to  know  how  that  scoundrel  came 
off  no  richer  by  his  treachery." 

"  What  I  observes  partic'lar  in  the  narration," 
said  the  Old  Cattleman,  "  is  how  luck  is  the 
preedominatin'  feacher  throughout.  The  girl  an' 
her  old  pap  has  bad  luck  in  losin'  the  gew 
gaw's.  You-all  customs  sharps  has  good  luck  in 
havin'  the  news  brought  to  your  hand  as  to  where 
them  diamonds  is  hid,  by  a  coyote  whom  you  can 
bluff  plumb  outen  the  play  at  the  finish.  As  for 
the  coyote  informer,  why  he  has  luck  in  bein'  al 
lowed  to  live. 

"  An'  speakin'  of  luck,  seein'  that  in  this  yere 
story-tellin'  arrangement  that  seems  to  have 
grown  up  in  our  midst,  I'm  the  next  chicken  on 
the  roost,  I'll  onfold  to  you  gents  concernin'  '  The 
Luck  of  Cold-sober  Simms.' " 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

Which  this  yere  tale  is  mighty  devious,  not  to 
say  disjointed,  because,  d'you  see!  from  first  to  last, 
she's  all  the  truth.  Now,  thar  is  folks  sech  as  In 
juns  an'  them  sagacious  sports  which  we-all  terms 
philosophers,  who  talks  of  truth  bein'  straight.  In 
juns  will  say  a  liar  has  a  forked  tongue,  while  phi 
losophers  will  speak  of  a  straight  ondeviatin'  narra 
tive,  meanin'  tharby  to  indooce  you  to  regyard  said 
story  as  the  emanation  of  honesty  in  its  every  word. 
For  myse'f  I  don't  subscribe  none  to  these  yere 
phrases.  In  my  own  experience  it's  the  lies  that 
runs  in  a  straight  line  like  a  bullet,  whereas  the  truth 
goes  onder  an'  over,  an'  up  an'  down,  doubles  an' 
jumps  sideways  a  dozen  times  before  ever  it  fi 
nally  finds  its  camp  in  what  book-sharps  call  the 
"  climax."  Which  I  says  ag'in  that  this  tale,  bein' 
troo,  has  nacherally  as  many  kinks  in  it  as  a  new 
lariat. 

Bein'  thoughtful  that  a-way,  an'  preyed  on  by  a 

desire  to  back-track  every  fact  to  its  fountain-head, 

meanwhile    considerin'    how    different    the    kyards 

would  have  fallen  final  if  something  prior  had  been 

19  289 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

done  or  left  on  done,  has  ever  been  my  weakness. 
It's  allers  so  with  me.  I  can  recall  as  a  child  how 
back  in  Tennessee  I  deevotes  hours  when  fish- 
in'  or  otherwise  uselessly  engaged,  to  wonderin'  who 
ever  I'd  have  been  personal  if  my  maw  had  died  in 
her  girlhood  an'  pap  had  wedded  someone  else.  It's 
plumb  too  many  for  me;  an'  now  an'  then  when  in 
a  sperit  of  onusual  cog'tation,  I  ups  an'  wonders 
where  I'd  be  if  both  my  maw  an'  pap  had  cashed 
in  as  colts,  I'd  jest  simply  set  down  he'pless,  on- 
qualified  to  think  at  all.  It's  plain  that  in  sech  on- 
toward  events  as  my  two  parents  dyin',  say,  at  the 
age  of  three,  I  sort  o'  wouldn't  have  happened  none. 
This  yere  solemn  view  never  fails  to  give  me  the 
horrors. 

I  fixes  the  time  of  this  story  easy  as  bein'  that 
eepock  when  Jim  East  an'  Bob  Pierce  is  sheriffs 
of  the  Panhandle,  with  headquarters  in  Tascosa, 
an'  Bob  Roberson  is  chief  of  the  LIT  ranch.  These 
yere  evidences  of  merit  on  the  parts  of  them  three 
gents  has  not,  however,  anything  to  do  with  how 
Cold-sober  Simms  gets  rich  at  farobank;  how  two 
hold-ups  plots  to  rob  him;  how  he's  saved  by  the 
inadvertent  capture  of  a  bob-cat  who's  strange  to 
him  entire;  an'  how  the  two  hold-ups  in  their  cha 
grin  over  Cold-sober's  escape  an'  the  mootual 
doubts  it  engenders,  pulls  on  each  other  an'  relieves 
the  Stranglers  from  the  labor  of  stringin'  'em  to  a 
cotton  wood. 

These  doin's  whereof  I  gives  you  a  rapid  rehear- 
290 


THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

sal,  has  their  start  when  Old  Scotty  an'  Locoed 
Charlie  gets  drunk  in  Tascosa  prior  to  startin'  west 
on  their  buckboard  with  the  mailbags  of  the  Lee- 
Scott  ranch.  Locoed  Charlie  an'  Old  Scotty  is 
drunk  when  they  pulls  out;  Cold-sober  Simms  is 
with  'em  as  a  passenger.  At  their  night  camp  half 
way  to  the  Lee-Scott,  Locoed  Charlie,  whose  head 
can't  stand  the  strain  of  Jenkins'  nose-paint,  makes 
war-medicine  an'  lays  for  Old  Scotty  all  spraddled 
out.  As  the  upcome  of  these  yere  hostilities,  Old 
Scotty  confers  a  most  elab'rate  beatin'  on  Locoed 
Charlie ;  after  which  they-all  cooks  their  grub,  feeds, 
an'  goes  to  sleep. 

But  Locoed  Charlie  don't  go  to  sleep ;  he  lays  thar 
drunk  an'  disgruntled  an'  hungerin'  to  play  even. 
As  a  good  revengeful  scheme,  Locoed  Charlie  al 
lows  he'll  get  up  an'  secrete  the  mailbag,  thinkin' 
tharby  to  worry  Old  Scotty  till  he  sweats  blood. 
Locoed  Charlie  packs  the  mailbag  over  among  some 
rocks  which  is  thick  grown  with  cedar  bresh. 
When  it  comes  sun-up  an'  Locoed  Charlie  is  sober 
an'  repents,  an'  tells  Old  Scotty  of  his  little  game, 
neither  he  nor  Scotty  can  find  that  mailbag  nohow. 
Locoed  Charlie  shore  hides  her  good. 

Locoed  Charlie  an'  Scotty  don't  dare  go  on  with 
out  it,  but  stays  an'  searches;  Cold-sober  Simms — 
who  is  given  this  yere  nom-de-guerre,  as  Colonel 
Sterett  terms  it,  because  he's  the  only  sport  in  the 
Panhandle  who  don't  drink — stays  with  'em  to  help 
on  the  hunt.  At  last,  failin'  utter  to  discover  the 

291 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

missin'  mail,  Locoed  Charlie  an'  Old  Scotty  re 
turns  to  Tascosa  in  fear  an'  tremblin',  not  packin' 
the  nerve  to  face  McAllister,  who  manages  for  the 
Lee-Scott,  an'  inform  him  of  the  yoonique  dis 
position  they  makes  of  his  outfit's  letters.  This 
return  to  Tascosa  is,  after  all,  mere  proodence,  since 
McAllister  is  a  mighty  emotional  manager,  that 
a-way,  an'  it's  as  good  as  even  money  he  hangs 
both  of  them  culprits  in  that  first  gust  of  enthoosi- 
asm  which  would  be  shore  to  follow  any  explana 
tion  they  can  make.  So  they  returns;  an'  because 
he  can't  he'p  himse'f  none,  bein'  he's  only  a  pas 
senger  on  that  buckboard,  Cold-sober  Simms  re 
turns  with  'em.  No,  the  mailbag  is  found  a  week 
later  by  a  Lee-Scott  rider,  an'  for  the  standin'  of 
Locoed  Charlie  an'  Scotty  it's  as  well  he  does. 

Cold-sober  is  some  sore  at  bein'  baffled  in  his  trip 
to  the  Lee-Scott  since  he  aims  to  go  to  work  thar  as 
a  rider.  To  console  himse'f,  he  turns  in  an'  bucks 
a  faro  game  that  a  brace  of  onknown  black-laigs 
who  shows  in  Tascosa  from  Fort  Elliot  the  day 
prior,  has  onfurled  in  James'  s'loon.  As  some 
times  happens,  Cold-sober  plays  in  all  brands  an' 
y'earmarks  of  luck,  an'  in  four  hours  breaks  the 
bank.  It  ain't  overstrong,  no  sech  institootion  of 
finance  in  fact  as  Cherokee  Hall's  faro  game  in 
Wolfville,  an'  when  Cold-sober  calls  the  last  nine- 
king  turn  for  one  hundred,  an'  has  besides  a  hun 
dred  on  the  nine,  coppered,  an'  another  hundred 
open  on  the  king,  tharby  reapin'  six  hundred  dol- 

292 


THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

lars  as  the  froots  of  said  feat,  the  sharp  who's  deal- 
in'  turns  up  his  box  an'  tells  Cold-sober  to  set  in 
his  chips  to  be  cashed.  Cold-sober  sets  'em  in; 
nine  thousand  five  hundred  dollars  bein'  the  round 
up,  an'  the  dealer-sharp  hands  over  the  dinero. 
Then  in  a  sperit  of  resentment  the  dealer-sharp 
picks  up  the  faro-box  an'  smashes  it  ag'in  the  wall. 

"  Thar  bein'  nothin'  left,"  he  says  to  his  fellow 
black-laig,  who's  settin'  in  the  look-out's  chair,  "  for 
you  an'  me  but  to  prance  out  an'  stand  up  a  stage, 
we  may  as  well  dismiss  that  deal-box  from  our  af 
fairs.  I  knowed  that  box  was  a  hoodoo  ever  since 
Black  Morgan  gets  killed  over  it  in  Mobeetie;  an' 
so  I  tells  you,  but  you-all  wouldn't  heed." 

Cold-sober  is  shore  elated  about  his  luck;  them 
nine  thousand  odd  dollars  is  more  wealth  than  he 
ever  sees;  an'  how  to  dispose  of  it,  now  he's  got 
it,  begins  to  bother  Cold-sober  a  heap.  One  gent 
says,  "  Hive  it  in  Howard's  Store!"  another 
su'gests  he  leave  it  with  old  man  Colin;  while  still 
others  agrees  it's  Cold-sober's  dooty  to  blow  it  in. 

"  Which  if  I  was  you-all,"  says  Johnny  Cook  of 
the  LIT  outfit,  "  I'd  shore  sally  forth  an'  buy  nose- 
paint  with  that  treasure  while  a  peso  remained." 

But  Cold-sober  turns  down  these  divers  proposals 
an'  allows  he'll  pack  said  roll  in  his  pocket  a  whole 
lot,  which  he  accordm'  does. 

Cold-sober  hangs  'round  Tascosa  for  mighty  near 
a  week,  surrenderin'  all  thought  of  gettin'  to  the 
Lee-Scott  ranch,  feelin'  that  he's  now  too  rich  to 

293 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

punch  cattle.  Doorin'  this  season  of  idleness  art' 
ease,  Cold-sober  bunks  in  with  a  jimcrow  English 
doctor  who's  got  a  'doby  in  Tascosa  an'  who  calls 
himse'f  Chepp.  He's  a  decent  form  of  maverick, 
however,  this  yere  Chepp,  an'  him  an'  Cold-sober 
becomes  as  thick  as  thieves. 

Cold-sober's  stay  with  Chepp  is  brief  as  I  states; 
in  a  week  he  gets  restless  ag'in  for  work;  where 
upon  he  hooks  up  with  Roberson,  an'  goes  p'intin' 
south  across  the  Canadian  on  a  L  I  T  hoss  to  hold 
down  one  of  that  brand's  sign-camps  in  Mitchell's 
canyon.  It's  only  twenty  miles,  an'  he's  thar  in 
half  a  day — him  an'  Wat  Peacock  who's  to  be  his 
mate.  An'  Cold-sober  packs  with  him  that  fortune 
of  ninety-five  hundred. 

The  two  black-laigs  who's  been  depleted  that  a- 
way  still  hankers  about  Tascosa;  but  as  mighty 
likely  they  don't  own  the  riches  to  take  'em  out  o' 
town,  not  much  is  thought.  Nor  does  it  ruffle  the 
feathers  of  commoonal  suspicion  when  the  two  dis 
appears  a  few  days  after  Cold-sober  goes  ridin'  away 
to  assoome  them  LIT  reesponsibilities  in  Mitchell's 
canyon.  The  public  is  too  busy  to  bother  itse'f 
about  'em.  It  comes  out  later,  however,  that  the 
goin'  of  Cold-sober  has  everything  to  do  with  the 
exodus  of  them  hold-ups,  an'  that  they've  been  layin' 
about  since  they  loses  their  roll  on  a  chance  of  get- 
tin'  it  back.  When  Cold-sober  p'ints  south  for 
Mitchell's  that  time,  it's  as  good  as  these  outlaws 
asks.  They  riggers  on  trailin'  him  to  Mitchell's  an' 

294 


THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

hiclin'  out  ontil  some  hour  when  Peacock's  off  fool- 
in'  about  the  range;  when  they  argues  Cold-sober 
would  be  plumb  easy,  an'  they'll  kill  an'  skelp  him 
an'  clean  him  up  for  his  money,  an'  ride  away. 

"  In  fact,"  explains  the  one  Cold-sober  an'  Pea 
cock  finds  alive,  "  it's  our  idee  that  the  killin'  an' 
skelpin'  an'  pillagin'  of  Cold-sober  would  get  layed 
to  Peacock,  which  would  mean  safety  for  us  an' 
at  the  same  time  be  a  jest  on  Peacock  that  would 
be  plumb  hard  to  beat."  That  was  the  plan  of  these 
outlaws ;  an'  the  cause  of  its  failure  is  the  followin' 
episode,  to  wit : 

It  looks  like  this  Doc  Chepp  is  locoed  to  collect 
wild  anamiles  that  a-way. 

"  Which  I  wants,"  says  this  shorthorn  Chepp, 
"  a  speciment  of  every  sort  o'  the  fauna  of  these 
yere  regions,  savin'  an'  exceptin'  polecats.  I 
knows  enough  of  the  latter  pungent  beast  from  an 
encounter  I  has  with  one,  to  form  notions  ag'in 
'em  over  which  not  even  the  anxious  cry  of  science 
can  preevail.  Polecats  is  barred  from  my  c'llec- 
tions.  But,"  an'  said  Chepp  imparts  this  last  to 
Cold-sober  as  the  latter  starts  for  Mitchell's,  "  if  by 
any  sleight  or  dexterity  you-all  accomplishes  the 
capture  of  a  bob-cat,  bring  the  interestin'  creature 
to  me  at  once.  An'  bring  him  alive  so  I  may  ob 
serve  an'  note  his  pecooliar  traits." 

It's  the  third  mornin'  in  Mitchell's  when  a  bob 
cat  is  seen  by  Cold-sober  an'  Peacock  to  go  sa'nter- 
in'  up  the  valley.  Mebby  this  yere  bob-cat's  home- 

295 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

less;  mebby  he's  a  dissoloote  bob-cat  an'  has  been 
out  all  night  carousin'  with  other  bob-cats  an'  is 
simply  late  gettin'  in;  be  the  reason  of  his  appear 
ance  what  it  may,  Cold-sober  remembers  about  Doc 
Chepp's  wish  to  own  a  bob-cat,  an'  him  an'  Peacock 
lets  go  all  holds,  leaps  for  their  ponies  an'  gives 
chase.  Thar's  a  scramblin'  run  up  the  canyon ;  then 
Peacock  gets  his  rope  onto  it,  an'  next  Cold-sober 
fastens  with  his  rope,  an'  you  hear  me,  gents,  be 
tween  'em  they  almost  rends  this  yere  onhappy  bob 
cat  in  two.  They  pauses  in  time,  however,  an' 
after  a  fearful  struggle  they  succeeds  in  stuffin'  the 
bob-cat  into  Peacock's  leather  laiggin's,  which  the 
latter  gent  removes  for  that  purpose.  Bound  hand 
an'  foot,  an'  wropped  in  the  laiggin's  so  tight  he 
can  hardly  squawl,  that  bob-cat's  put  before  Cold- 
sober  on  his  saddle;  an'  this  bein'  fixed,  Cold-sober 
heads  for  Tascosa  to  present  him  to  his  naturalist 
friend,  Chepp,  Peacock  scamperin'  cheerfully  along 
like  a  drunkard  to  a  barbecue  regyardin'  the  racket 
as  a  oncleniable  excuse  for  gettin'  soaked. 

This  adventure  of  the  bob-cat  is  the  savin'  clause 
in  the  case  of  Cold-sober  Simms.  As  the  bob 
cat  an'  him  an'  Peacock  rides  away,  them  two  male 
factors  is  camped  not  five  miles  off,  over  by  the 
Serrita  la  Cruz,  an'  arrangin'  to  go  projectin'  'round 
for  Cold-sober  an'  his  ninety-five  hundred  that  very 
evenin'.  In  truth,  they  execootes  their  scheme ;  but 
only  to  find  when  they  jumps  his  camp  in  Mitchell's 
that  Cold-sober's  done  vamosed  a  whole  lot. 

296 


THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

It's  then  trouble  begins  to  gather  for  the  two 
rustlers.  The  one  who  deals  the  game  that  time 
is  so  overcome  by  Cokl-sober's  absence,  he  peevish 
ly  puts  it  up  that  his  pard  gives  Cold-sober  warnin' 
with  the  idee  of  later  whackin'  up  the  roll  with  him 
by  way  of  a  reward  for  his  virchoo.  Nacherally 
no  se'f-respectin'  miscreant  will  submit  to  sech  im 
peachments,  an'  the  accoosed  makes  a  heated  retort, 
punctuatin'  his  observations  with  his  gun.  Thar- 
tipon  the  other  proceeds  to  voice  his  feelin's  with 
his  six-shooter;  an'  the  mootual  remarks  of  these 
yere  dispootants  is  so  well  aimed  an'  ackerate  that 
next  evenin'  when  Cold-sober  an'  Peacock  returns, 
they  finds  one  dead  an'  t'other  dyin'  with  even  an' 
exact  jestice  broodin'  over  all. 

As  Cold-sober  an'  Peacock  is  settin'  by  their  fire 
that  night,  restin'  from  their  labors  in  plantin' 
the  two  hold-ups,  Cold-sober  starts  up  sudden  an' 
says : 

"  Yereafter  I  adopts  a  bob-cat  for  my  coat-o'- 
arms.  Also,  I  changes  my  mind  about  Howard, 
an'  to-morry  I'll  go  chargin'  into  Tascosa  an'  leave 
said  ninety-five  hundred  in  his  iron  box.  Thar's 
more  '  bad  men '  at  Fort  Elliot  than  them  two  we 
plants,  an'  mebby  some  more  of  'em  may  come 
a-weavin'  up  the  Canadian  with  me  an'  my  wealth 
as  their  objective  p'int." 

Peacock  endorses  the  notion  enthoosiastic,  an' 
declar's  himse'f  in  on  the  play  as  a  body-guard; 


297 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

for  he  sees  in  this  yere  second  expedition  a  new 
o'casion  for  another  drunk,  an'  Peacock  jest  nacher- 
ally  dotes  on  a  debauch. 


"  And  what  did  your  Cold-sober  Simms,"  asked 
the  Sour  Gentleman,  "  finally  do  with  his  money  ? 
Did  he  go  into  the  cattle  business  ?  " 

"  Never  buys  a  hoof,''  returned  the  Old  Cattle 
man.  "  No,  indeed ;  he  loses  it  ag'in  monte  in 
Kelly's  s'loon  in  Dodge.  Charley  Bassett  who's 
marshal  at  the  time  tries  to  git  Cold-sober  to  pass 
up  that  monte  game.  But  thar  ain't  no  headin' 
him;  he  would  buck  it,  an'  so  the  sharp  who's  deal- 
in',  Butcher  Knife  Bill  it  is — turns  in  an'  knocks 
Cold-sober's  horns  plumb  off." 

The  sudden  collapse  of  the  volatile  Cold-sober's 
fortunes  was  quite  a  dampener  to  the  Sour  Gen 
tleman;  he  evidently  entertained  a  hope  that  the 
lucky  cow-boy  was  fated  to  a  rise  in  life.  The  news 
of  his  final  losses  had  less  effect  on  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman  who,  having  witnessed  no  little  gambling 
in  his  earlier  years,  seemed  better  prepared.  In 
truth,  a  remark  he  let  fall  would  show  as  much. 

"  I  was  sure  he  would  lose  it,"  said  the  Red  Nosed 
Gentleman.  "  Men  win  money  only  to  lose  it  to  the 
first  game  they  can  find.  However,  to  change  the 
subject :  "  Here  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  beamed 
upon  the  Jolly  Doctor.  "  Sir,  the  hour  is  young. 

298 


THE  LUCK  OF  COLD-SOBER  SIMMS. 

Can't  you  aid  us  to  finish  the  evening  with  another 
story?" 

"  There  is  one  I  might  give  you/'  responded  the 
Jolly  Doctor.  "  It  is  of  a  horse-race  like  that  Res 
cue  of  Connelly  you  related  and  was  told  me  by  an 
old  friend  and  patient  who  I  fear  was  a  trifle  wild 
as  a  youth.  This  is  the  story  as  set  forth  by  him 
self,  and  for  want  of  a  more  impressive  title,  we 
may  call  it  '  How  Prince  Rupert  Lost/  ' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOW  PRINCE   RUPERT  LOST. 

And  now  Fll  tell  you  how  I  once  threw  stones 
at  Hartford  and  thereby  gained  queer  money  to 
carry  me  to  the  bedside  of  my  mother  at  her 
death. 

My  father,  you  should  know,  was  a  lawyer  of 
eminence  and  wide  practice  at  the  New  York  bar. 
His  income  was  magnificent;  yet — thriftless  and 
well  living — he  spent  it  with  both  hands.  My 
mother,  who  took  as  little  concern  for  the  future 
as  himself,  aided  pleasantly  in  scattering  the  dol 
lars  as  fast  as  they  were  earned. 

With  no  original  estate  on  either  side,  and  not 
a  shilling  saved,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  my 
father's  death  should  leave  us  wanting  a  penny. 
I  was  twenty-two  when  the  blow  fell ;  he  died 
stricken  of  an  apoplexy,  his  full  habit  and  want 
of  physical  exercise  marking  him  to  that  malady 
as  a  certain  prey. 

I  well  recall  how  this  death  came  upon  us  as  a 
bolt  from  the  blue.  And  while  his  partner  stood 
over  our  affairs  like  a  brother,  when  the  debts 
were  paid  there  remained  no  more  than  would 

300 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

manage  an  annuity  for  my  mother  of  some  six 
hundred  dollars.  With  that  she  retreated  to  West- 
chester  and  lived  the  little  balance  of  her  years 
with  a  maiden  sister  who  owned  a  starved  farm, 
all  chequered  of  stone  fences,  in  that  region  of 
breath-taking  hills. 

It  stood  my  misfortune  that  I  was  bred  as  the 
son  of  a  wealthy  man.  Columbia  was  my  school 
and  the  generosity  of  my  father  gilded  those  col 
lege  days  with  an  allowance  of  five  thousand  a 
year.  I  became  proficient — like  many  another 
hare-brain — in  everything  save  books,  and  was  a 
notable  guard  on  the  University  Eleven  and  pulled 
the  bow  oar  in  the  University  Eight.  When  I 
came  from  college  the  year  before  my  father's 
death  I  could  write  myself  adept  of  a  score  of 
sciences,  each  physical,  not  one  of  which  might 
serve  to  bring  a  splinter  of  return — not  one,  in 
deed,  that  did  not  demand  the  possession  of  larg 
est  wealth  in  its  pursuit.  I  was  poor  in  that  I  did 
not  have  a  dollar  when  brought  to  face  the  world ; 
I  was  doubly  poor  with  a  training  that  had  taught 
me  to  spend  thousands.  Therefore,  during  the 
eighteen  years  to  succeed  my  father's  going,  was 
I  tossed  on  the  waves  of  existence  like  so  much 
wreckage ;  and  that  I  am  not  still  so  thrown  about 
is  the  offspring  of  happy  exigency  rather  than  a 
condition  due  to  wisdom  of  my  own. 

My  ship  of  money  did  not  come  in  until  after 
I'd  encountered  my  fortieth  year.  For  those 

301 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

eighteen  years  next  prior,  if  truth  must  out,  lid 
picked  up  intermittent  small  money  following  the 
races.  Turf  interest  of  that  day  settled  about 
such  speedy  ones  as  Goldsmith  Maid,  Lucy,  Judge 
Fullerton  and  American  Girl,  while  Budd  Doble, 
Dan  Mace  and  Jack  Splan  were  more  often  in  the 
papers  than  was  the  President.  I  followed  the 
races,  I  say;  sometimes  I  was  flush  of  money, 
more  often  I  was  poor;  but  one  way  or  another 
I  clung  to  the  skirts  of  the  circuits  and  managed 
to  live. 

Now,  since  age  has  come  to  my  head  and  gold 
to  my  fingers,  and  I've  had  time  and  the  cooled 
blood  wherewith  to  think,  I've  laid  my  ill  courses 
of  those  eighteen  evil  years  to  the  doors  of  what 
vile  ideals  of  life  are  taught  in  circles  of  our  very 
rich.  What  is  true  now,  was  true  then.  Among 
our  "  best  people  " — if  "  best  "  be  the  word  where 
"  worst  "  might  better  fit  the  case — who  is  held  up 
to  youthful  emulation?  Is  it  the  great  lawyer, 
or  writer,  or  preacher,  or  merchant,  or  man  of 
medicine  ?  Is  it  he  of  any  trade  or  calling  who 
stands  usefully  and  profitably  at  the  head  of  his 
fellows  ?  Never ;  such  gentry  of  decent  effort  and 
clean  dollars  to  flow  therefrom  are  not  mentioned ; 
or  if  they  be,  it  is  not  for  compliment  and  often 
with  disdain. 

And  who  has  honor  in  the  social  conventions 
of  our  American  aristocrats?  It  is  young  A,  who 
drives  an  automobile  some  eighty  miles  an  hour; 

302 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

or  young  B,  who  sails  a  single-sticker  until  her 
canvas  is  blown  from  the  bolt  ropes ;  or  young  C, 
who  rides  like  an  Arab  at  polo;  or  young  D,  who 
drives  farthest  at  golf;  or  young  E,  who  is  the 
headlong  first  in  a  paper  chase.  These  be  the 
ideals;  these  the  promontories  to  steer  by.  Is  it 
marvel  then  when  a  youth  raised  of  those  "  best 
circles  "  falls  out  of  his  nest  of  money  that  he 
lies  sprawling,  unable  to  honestly  aid  himself?  Is 
it  strange  that  he  afterward  lives  drunken  and  pre 
cariously  and  seldom  in  walks  asking  industry  and 
hard  work?  His  training  has  been  to  spend 
money,  while  his  contempt  was  reserved  for  those 
who  labored  its  honorable  accumulation.  Such 
wrong-taught  creatures,  bereft  of  bank  accounts, 
are  left  to  adopt  the  races,  the  gambling  tables, 
or  the  wine  trade;  and  with  all  my  black  wealth 
of  experience,  I  sit  unable  to  determine  which  is 
basest  and  most  loathly  of  the  three. 

During  those  eighteen  roving,  race-course  years 
I  saw  my  mother  but  seldom ;  and  I  never  exposed 
to  her  my  methods  of  life.  I  told  her  that  I 
"  traveled ;"  and  she,  good,  innocent  girl !  gained 
from  the  phrase  a  cloudy  notion  that  I  went  the 
trusted  ambassador  to  various  courts  of  trade  of 
some  great  manufactory.  I  protected  her  from 
the  truth  to  the  end,  and  she  died  brightly  con 
fident  that  her  son  made  a  brilliant  figure  in  the 
world. 

While  on  my  ignoble  wanderings  I  kept  myself 
303 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

in  touch  with  one  whom  I  might  trust,  and  who, 
dwelling  near  my  mother,  saw  her  day  by  day. 
He  was  ever  in  possession  of  my  whereabouts. 
Her  health  wras  a  bit  perilous  from  heart  troubles, 
and  I,  as  much  as  I  might,  maintained  arrange 
ments  to  warn  me  should  she  turn  seriously  ill. 

At  first  I  looked  hourly  for  such  notice ;  but  as 
month  after  month  went  by  and  no  bad  tidings- 
nothing  save  word  at  intervals  that  she  was  pass 
ing  her  quiet,  uneventful  days  in  comfort,  and  as 
each  occasional  visit  made  to  Westchester  con 
firmed  such  news,  my  apprehension  became  dulled 
and  dormant.  It  was  a  surprise  then,  and  pierced 
me  hideously,  when  I  opened  the  message  that 
told  how  her  days  were  down  to  hours  and  she 
lay  dying. 

The  telegram  reached  me  in  Hartford.  When 
I  took  it  from  the  messenger's  hand  I  was  so  poor 
I  could  not  give  him  a  dime  for  finding  me ;  and 
as  he  had  been  to  some  detective  pains  in  the 
business,  he  left  with  an  ugly  face  as  one  cheated 
of  appreciation.  I  could  not  help  it;  there  dwelt 
not  so  much  as  one  cheap  copper  in  my  pocket. 
Also,  my  clothes  wrere  none  of  the  best;  for  I'd 
been  in  ill  fortune,  and  months  of  bankruptcy  had 
dealt  unkindly  with  my  wardrobe.  But  there 
should  be  no  such  word  as  fail;  I  must  find  the 
money  to  go  to  her — find  it  even  though  it  ar 
rive  on  the  tides  of  robbery. 

Luck  came  to  me.  Within  the  minute  to  fol- 
304 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

low  the  summons,  and  while  the  yellow  message 
still  fluttered  between  my  fingers,  I  was  hailed 
from  across  the  street.  The  hail  came  from  a 
certain  coarse  gentleman  who  seemed  born  to 
horse-races  as  to  an  heritage  and  was,  withal,  one 
of  the  few  who  reaped  a  harvest  from  them.  This 
fortunate  one  was  known  to  the  guild  as  Sure- 
thing  Pete. 

It  was  fairly  early  of  the  morning,  eight  o'clock, 
and  Surething  Pete  in  the  wake  of  his  several 
morning  drinks — he  was  a  celebrated  sot — was 
having  his  boots  cleaned.  It  is  a  curious  thing 
that  half-drunken  folk  are  prone  to  this  improve 
ment.  That  is  why  a  boot-black's  chair  is  found 
so  frequently  just  outside  the  portals  of  a  rum 
shop.  The  prospect  of  a  seat  allures  your  drunk 
ard  fresh  from  his  latest  drink;  he  may  sit  at 
secure  ease  and  please  his  rum-contented  fancy 
with  a  review  of  the  passing  crowds;  also,  the 
Italian  digging  and  brushing  about  his  soles  gives 
an  impression  that  he  is  subject  of  concern  to 
some  one  and  this  nurses  a  sense  of  importance 
and  comes  as  vague  tickle  to  his  vanity. 

Surething  Pete,  as  related,  was  under  the  hands 
of  a  boot-black  when  I  approached.  He  was 
much  older  than  I  and  regarded  me  as  a  boy. 

"  Broke,  eh?"  said  Surething  Pete.     His  eye, 

though  bleary,  was  keen.     Then  he  tendered  a 

quarter.     "  Take  this  and  go  and  eat.     I'll  wait 

for  you  here.     Come  back  in  fifteen  minutes  and 

20  305 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

I'll  put  you  in  line  to  make  some  money.  I'd 
give  you  more,  but  I'm  afraid  you  wouldn't  re 
turn." 

Make  money !  I  bolted  two  eggs  and  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  was  back  in  ten  minutes.  Surething's 
second  shoe  was  receiving  its  last  polish.  He 
paid  the  artist,  and  then  turning  led  me  to  a  rear 
room  of  the  nearby  ginmill. 

11  This  is  it,"  said  Surething.  His  voice  was 
rum-husky  but  he  made  himself  clear.  "  There's 
the  special  race  between  Prince  Rupert  and  Creole 
Belle.  You  know  about  that  ?  " 

Of  course  I  knew.  These  cracks  had  been 
especially  matched  against  each  other.  It  would 
be  a  great  contest;  the  odds  were  five  to  three 
on  Prince  Rupert ;  thousands  were  being  wagered ; 
the  fraternity  had  talked  of  nothing  else  for  three 
weeks.  Of  course  I  knew! 

"  Well,"  went  on  Surething,  "  I've  been  put 
wrong,  understand !  I've  got  my  bundle  on  Creole 
Belle  and  stand  to  win  a  fortune  if  Prince  Rupert 
is  beaten.  I  supposed  that  I'd  got  his  driver 
fixed.  I  paid  this  crook  a  thousand  cold  and  gave 
him  tickets  on  Creole  Belle  which  stand  him  to 
win  five  thousand  more  to  throw  the  race.  But 
now,  with  the  race  to  be  called  at  two  o'clock,  I 
get  it  straight  he's  out  to  double-cross  me.  He'll 
drive  Rupert  to  win;  an'  if  he  does  I'm  a  gone 
fawnskin.  But  I've  thought  of  another  trick." 


306 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

Then  suddenly:  "1*11  tell  you  what  you  do;  get 
into  this  wagon  outside  and  come  with  me." 

With  the  last  word,  Surething  again  headed  for 
the  street.  We  took  a  carriage  that  stood  at  the 
door.  In  thirty  minutes  we  were  on  the  Charter 
Oak  track.  At  this  early  hour,  we  had  the  course 
to  ourselves.  Surething  walked  up  the  home 
stretch  until  we  arrived  at  a  point  midway  be 
tween  the  half  mile  post  and  the  entrance  to  the 
stretch. 

"  See  that  tree?  "  said  Surething,  and  he  point 
ed  to  a  huge  buttonwood — a  native — that  stood 
perhaps  twenty  feet  inside  the  rail.  "  Come  over 
and  take  a  look  at  it." 

The  great  buttonwood  was  hollow;  or  rather  a 
half  had  been  torn  away  by  some  storm.  What 
remained,  however,  was  growing  green  and  strong 
and  stood  in  such  fashion  towards  the  course  that 
it  offered  a  perfect  hiding  place.  By  lying  close 
within  the  hollow  one  was  screened  from  any  who 
might  drive  along. 

"  This  is  the  proposition,"  continued  Surething, 
when  I  had  taken  in  the  convenient  buttonwood 
and  its  advantages.  "  This  Rupert  can  beat  the 
Belle  if  he's  driven.  But  he's  as  nervous  as  a 
girl.  If  a  fly  should  light  on  him  he'd  go  ten 
feet  in  the  air — understand?  Here  now  is  what 
I  want  of  you.  I'll  tell  you  what  you're  to  do; 
then  I'll  tell  you  what  you're  to  get.  I  want  you 
to  plant  yourself  behind  this  tree — better  come 

307 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

here  as  early  as  the  noon  hour.  The  track'll  be 
clear  and  no  one'll  see  you  go  under  cover,  under 
stand  !  As  I  say,  I  want  you  to  plant  yourself  in 
the  sheltering  hollow  of  this  buttonwood.  You 
ought  to  have  three  rocks — say  as  big  as  a  guinea's 
egg — three  stones,  d'ye  see,  'cause  the  race  is 
heats,  best  three  in  five.  You  must  lay  dead  so 
no  one'll  get  on.  As  Rupert  and  the  Belle  sweep 
'round  the  curve  for  the  stretch,  you  want  to  let 
'em  get  a  trifle  past  you.  Then  you're  to  step 
out  and  nail  Rupert — he'll  have  the  pole  without 
a  doubt — and  nail  Rupert,  I  say,  with  a  rock. 
That'll  settle  him;  he'll  be  up  in  the  air  like  a 
swallow-bird.  It'll  give  the  Belle  the  heat." 

Having  gotten  thus  far,  Surething  fell  into  a 
mighty  fit  of  coughing;  his  face  congested  and  his 
eyes  rolled.  For  a  moment  I  feared  that  apoplexy 
— my  father's  death — might  take  him  in  the  midst 
of  his  hopeful  enterprise  and  deprive  me  of  this 
chance  of  riches.  I  was  not  a  little  relieved  there 
fore  when  he  somewhat  recovered  and  went  on : 

"  That  trick's  as  safe  as  seven-up,"  continued 
Surething.  "  You'll  be  alone  up  here,  as  every 
body  else  will  be  down  about  the  finish.  The 
drivers,  driving  like  mad,  won't  see  you — won't 
see  anything  but  their  horses'  ears.  You  must 
get  Rupert — get  him  three  times — every  time  he 
comes  'round — understand  ?  " 

I  understood. 

"  Right  you  are,"  concluded  Surething.     "  And 

308 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

to  make  it  worth  your  while,  here  are  tickets  on 
the  Belle  that  call  for  five  hundred  dollars  if  she 
wins.  And  here's  a  dollar  also  for  a  drink  and 
another  feed  to  steady  your  wrists  for  the  stone- 
throwing." 

It  will  seem  strange  and  may  even  attract  resent 
ment  that  I,  a  college  graduate  and  come  of  good 
folk,  should  accept  such  commission  from  a  felon 
like  Surething  Pete.  All  I  say  is  that  I  did 
accept  it;  was  glad  to  get  it;  and  for  two  hours 
before  the  great  contest  between  Prince  Rupert 
and  Creole  Belle  was  called,  I  lay  ensconced  in 
my  buttonwood  ambush,  armed  of  three  stones 
like  David  without  the  sling,  ready  to  play  my 
part  towards  the  acquirement  of  those  promised 
hundreds.  And  with  that,  my  thoughts  were  on 
my  mother.  The  money  would  count  handsomely 
to  procure  me  proper  clothes  and  take  me  home. 
To  me  the  proposed  bombardment  of  the  nervous 
Rupert  appeared  an  opportunity  heaven-sent  when 
my  need  was  most. 

For  fear  of  discovery  and  woe  to  follow,  I  put 
my  tickets  in  the  hands  of  one  who,  while  as  poor 
as  I,  could  yet  be  trusted.  He  was,  if  the  Belle 
won,  to  cash  them;  and  should  I  be  observed  at 
my  sleight  of  hand  work  and  made  to  fly,  he 
would  meet  me  in  a  near-by  village  with  the  pro 
ceeds. 

At  prompt  two  o'clock  the  race  was  called. 
There  were  bustling  crowds  of  spectators;  but 

309 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

none  came  near  my  hiding  place,  as  Surething 
Pete  had  foreseen.  The  horses  got  off  with  the 
second  trial.  They  trotted  as  steadily  as  clock 
work.  As  the  pair  rounded  the  second  curve 
they  were  coming  like  the  wind;  drivers  leaning 
far  forward  in  their  sulkies,  eagle  of  glance,  steady 
of  rein,  soothing  with  encouraging  words,  and 
"  sending  them,"  as  the  phrase  is,  for  every  inch. 
It  was  a  splendid  race  and  splendidly  driven, 
with  Rupert  on  the  pole  and  a  half  length  to  the 
good.  They  flashed  by  my  post  like  twin  meteors. 

As  they  passed  I  stepped  free  of  my  button- 
wood;  and  then,  as  unerringly  as  one  might  send 
a  bullet — for  I  had  not  been  long  enough  from 
school  to  forget  how  to  throw — my  first  pebble, 
full  two  ounces,  caught  the  hurrying  Rupert  in 
mid-rib. 

Mighty  were  the  results.  Prince  Rupert  leaped 
into  the  air — stumbled — came  almost  to  a  halt — 
then  into  the  air  a  second  time — and  following 
that,  went  galloping  and  pitching  down  the 
course,  his  driver  sawing  and  whipping  in  dis 
tracted  alternation.  Meanwhile,  Creole  Belle 
slipped  away  like  a  spirit  in  harness  and  finished 
a  wide  winner.  I  took  in  results  from  my  button- 
wood.  There  was  no  untoward  excitement  about 
the  grandstand  or  among  the  judges.  Good;  I 
was  not  suspected ! 

There  ensued  a  long  wait ;  planted  close  to  my 
tree  I  wearied  with  the  aching  length  of  it.  Then 

310 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

Rupert  and  the  Belle  were  on  the  track  again. 
The  gong  sounded ;  I  heard  the  word  "  Go !  "  even 
in  my  faraway  hiding ;  the  second  heat  was  on.  It 
was  patterned  of  the  first;  the  two  took  the  curve 
and  flew  for  the  head  of  the  stretch  as  they  did 
before;  Rupert  on  the  pole  and  leading  with  half 
a  length.  I  repeated  the  former  success.  The 
stone  struck  poor  Rupert  squarely.  He  shot 
straight  toward  the  skies  and  all  but  fell  in  the 
sulky  when  he  came  down.  It  was  near  to  end 
ing  matters;  for  Rupert  regained  his  feet  in 
scantiest  time  to  get  inside  the  distance  flag  be 
fore  the  Belle  streamed  under  the  wire. 

Creole  Belle !  two  straight  heats !  What  a  row 
and  a  roar  went  up  about  the  pools !  What  hedg 
ing  was  done !  From  five  to  three  on  Rupert 
the  odds  shifted  to  seven  to  two  on  Creole  Belle. 
I  could  hear  the  riot  and  interpret  it.  I  clung 
closely  to  the  protecting  buttonwood;  there  was 
still  a  last  act  before  the  play  was  done. 

It  was  the  third  heat.  The  pace,  comparatively, 
was  neither  hot  nor  hard;  the  previous  exertions 
of  both  Rupert  and  the  Belle  had  worn  away  the 
wire  edge  and  abated  their  appetites  for  any  ut 
most  speed.  Relatively,  however,  conditions  were 
equal  and  each  as  tired  as  the  other;  and  as 
Rupert  was  the  quicker  in  the  get-away  and  never 
failed  of  the  pole  in  the  first  quarter,  the  two 
as  they  neared  me  offered  the  old  picture  of 
Rupert  on  the  rail  and  leading  by  half  his  length. 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Had  I  owned  a  better  chance  of  observation,  I 
might  have  noted  as  Prince  Rupert  drew  near  the 
buttonwood  that  his  mind  was  not  at  ease.  He 
remembered  those  two  biting  flints;  they  were 
lessons  not  lost  on  him.  As  I  stepped  from  con 
cealment  to  hurl  my  last  stone,  it  is  to  be  be 
lieved  that  Rupert — his  alarmed  eyes  roving  for 
lions  in  his  path — glimpsed  me.  Certain  it  is 
that  as  the  missile  flew  from  my  hand,  Rupert 
swerved  across  the  track,  the  hub  of  his  sulky 
narrowly  missing  the  shoulder  of  the  mare. 

The  sudden  shift  confused  my  markmanship, 
and  instead  of  Rupert,  the  stone  smote  the  driver 
on  the  ear  and  all  but  swept  him  from  his  seat. 
It  did  the  work,  however ;  whether  from  the  stone, 
the  whip,  or  that  state  of  general  perturbation 
wherein  his  fell  experiences  had  left  his  nerves, 
Rupert  went  fairly  to  pieces.  Before  he  was  on 
his  feet  again  and  squared  away,  the  Belle  had 
won. 

Peeping  from  my  hiding  place  I  could  tell  that 
my  adroit  interference  in  the  late  contest  was  be 
coming  the  subject  of  public  concern.  Rupert's 
driver,  still  sitting  in  his  sulky,  was  holding  high 
his  whip  in  professional  invocation  of  the  judges' 
eyes.  And  that  ill-used  horseman  was  talking;  at 
intervals  he  pointed  with  the  utmost  feeling 
towards  my  butonwood.  Nor  was  his  oratory 
without  power;  he  had  not  discoursed  long  when 
amid  an  abundance  of  shouts  and  oaths  and 

312 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

brandished  canes,  one  thousand  gentlemen  of  the 
turf  were  under  head  in  my  direction. 

It  was  interesting,  but  I  did  not  stay  in  con 
templation  of  the  spectacle;  I  out  and  bolted.  I 
crossed  the  track  and  ran  straight  for  the  end 
fence.  This  latter  barrier  looked  somewhat  high; 
I  made  no  essay  to  climb,  but,  picking  a  broadest 
board,  launched  myself  against  it,  shoulder  on. 
The  board  fell  and  I  was  through  the  gap  and  in  an 
open  field. 

But  why  waste  time  with  that  hustling  hue  and 
cry?  It  was  futile  for  all  its  indignant  energy;  I 
promise  you,  I  made  good  my  distance.  Young, 
strung  like  a  harp,  with  a  third  of  a  mile  start  and 
able  to  speed  like  a  deer,  I  ran  the  hunt  out  of 
sight  in  the  first  ten  minutes.  It  was  all  earnest 
ness,  that  flight  of  mine.  I  fled  through  three  vil 
lages  and  a  puny  little  river  that  fell  across  my 
path.  I  welcomed  the  river,  for  I  knew  it  would 
cool  the  quest. 

Of  a  verity !  I  got  my  money,  and  my  stone 
throwing  was  not  to  be  in  vain.  True,  the  driver 
and  the  owner  of  Rupert  both  protested,  but  the 
track  statutes  were  inexorable.  The  judges  could 
take  no  cognizance  of  that  cannonading  from  the 
buttonwood  and  gave  the  race — three  straight 
heats — to  Creole  Belle.  Surething  Pete  won  his 
thousands ;  and  as  for  me,  my  friend  and  I  en 
countered  according  to  our  tryst  and  he  brought 
me  my  money  safe.  Within  fifteen  hours  from 

313 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

that  time  when  I  dealt  disaster  to  Rupert  from 
the  sheltering  buttonwood,  clothed  and  in  respect 
able  tears,  I  was  kneeling  by  my  mother's  side 
and  taking  what  sorrowful  joy  I  might  for  having 
arrived  while  she  was  yet  equal  to  the  bestowal 
of  her  blessing. 


It  was  to  be  our  last  evening  about  the  great 
stone  fireplace;  the  last  of  our  stories  would  be 
told.  The  roads  were  now  broken,  and  though 
a  now-and-then  upset  was  more  than  likely  to 
enliven  one's  goings  about,  sleighs  and  sleds  as 
schemes  of  conveyance  were  pronounced  to  be 
among  things  possible.  As  we  drew  our  chairs 
about  the  blaze,  the  jangle  of  an  occasional  leash 
of  bells  showed  how  some  brave  spirit  was  even 
then  abroad. 

Under  these  inspiring  conditions,  the  Sour 
Gentleman  and  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman  de 
clared  their  purpose  of  on  the  morrow  pressing 
for  the  railway  station  eighteen  miles  away.  To 
this  end  they  had  already  chartered  a  sleigh,  and 
the  word  was  out  that  it  be  at  the  Inn  door  by 
ten  of  the  morning  clock. 

For  myself,  nothing  was  driving  me  of  business 
or  concern,  and  I  was  in  no  haste  to  leave ;  and 
the  Old  Cattleman  and  his  ward,  Sioux  Sam, 
were  also  of  a  mind  to  abide  where  they  were  for 


HOW  PRINCE  RUPERT  LOST. 

a  farther  day  or  two  at  least.  But  the  going  of 
the  Sour  Gentleman  and  the  Red  Nosed  Gentle 
man  would  destroy  our  circle,  wherefore  we  were 
driven  to  regard  this  as  "  our  last  evening,"  and 
to  crown  it  honorably  the  Jolly  Doctor  brewed 
a  giant  bowl  of  what  he  described  as  punch.  The 
others,  both  by  voice  and  the  loyalty  wherewith 
they  applied  themselves  to  its  disappearance, 
avowed  its  excellencies,  and  on  that  point  Sioux 
Sam  and  I  were  content  to  receive  their  words. 

The  Red  Nosed  Gentleman — who  had  put  aside 
his  burgundy  in  compliment  to  the  Jolly  Doctor 
and  his  punch,  and  seemed  sensibly  exhilarated  by 
this  change  of  beverage — was  the  first  to  give  the 
company  a  story.  It  was  of  his  younger,  green- 
cloth  days,  and  the  title  by  which  he  distinguished 
it  was  "  When  I  Ran  the  Shotgun." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

About  this  time  the  city  of  Providence  fell  mid- 
spasm  in  a  fit  of  civic  morality.  Communities, 
like  individuals,  are  prone  to  starts  of  strenuous 
virtue,  and  Providence,  bewailing  her  past  ini 
quities,  was  pushing"  towards  a  pure  if  not  a 
festive  life.  And  because  in  this  new  mood  to  be 
excellent  it  was  the  easiest,  nearest  thing,  Provi 
dence  smote  upon  the  gambling  brotherhood  with 
the  heavy  hand  of  the  police.  The  faro  games 
and  wheels  of  roulette  were  swept  away  and  more 
than  one  who  had  shared  their  feverish  profits 
were  sent  into  captivity.  Yea  forsooth!  the  gay 
fraternity  of  fortune  whose  staff  of  life  was  cards 
found  themselves  borne  upon  with  the  burden  of 
bad  days. 

For  myself  I  conceived  this  to  be  the  propitious 
moment  to  open  a  faro  room  of  my  own.  I  had 
been  for  long  of  the  guild  of  gamblers  yet  had 
never  soared  to  the  brave  heights  of  proprietor 
ship.  I  had  bucked  the  games,  but  never  dealt 
them.  It  came  to  me  as  a  thought  that  in  the 
beating  midst  of  this  moral  tempest  dwelt  my 

316 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

opportunity.  Had  I  chosen  a  day  of  police  apathy 
— an  hour  of  gambling  security — for  such  a  move, 
I  would  have  been  set  upon  by  every  established 
proprietor.  He  would  have  resented  my  rivalry 
as  a  game  warden  would  the  intromissions  of  a 
poacher.  And  I'd  have  been  wiped  out — devoured 
horn  and  hide  and  hoof  as  by  a  band  of  wolves. 

Under  these  new  conditions  of  communal  virtue, 
however,  and  with  the  clan  of  former  proprietors 
broken  and  dispersed,  the  field  was  free  of  menace 
from  within;  I  would  face  no  risk  more  grievous 
than  the  constabulary.  These  latter  I  believed  I 
might  for  a  season  avoid;  particularly  if  I  un 
veiled  my  venture  in  regions  new  and  not  there 
tofore  the  home  of  such  lawless  speculation. 

Filled  with  these  thoughts,  I  secured  apartments 
sufficiently  obscure  and  smuggled  in  the  para 
phernalia  under  cloud  of  night.  The  room  was 
small — twenty  feet  square;  there  was  space  for 
no  more  than  one  faro  table,  and  with  such  scant 
furnishing  I  went  to  work.  For  reasons  which 
now  escape  me  I  called  my  place  "  The  Shotgun." 

Heretofore  I  gave  you  assurance  of  the  lapse 
of  years  since  last  I  gambled  at  any  game  save 
the  Wall  Street  game  of  stocks.  I  quit  cards  for 
that  they  were  disreputable  and  the  gains  but 
small.  Stocks,  on  the  contrary,  are  endorsed  as 
"  respectable ;"  at  stocks  one  may  gamble  without 
forfeiture  of  position ;  also,  there  exist  no  frontiers 

317 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

to  the  profits  which  a  cunning  stock  plan  well 
executed  may  bring. 

In  my  old  simpler  days,  I  well  recall  those  de 
fences  of  the  pure  gambler  wherein  my  regard 
indulged.  Elia  once  separated  humanity  into  two 
tribes — those  who  borrow  and  those  who  lend.  In 
my  younger  philosophy  I  also  saw  two  septs: 
those  who  lose  and  those  who  win.  To  me  all 
men  were  gamblers.  Life  itself  was  one  continu 
ous  game  of  chance;  and  the  stakes,  that  shelter 
and  raiment  and  food  and  drink  to  compose  the 
body's  bulwark  against  an  instant  conquest  by 
Death.  Of  the  inherent  morality  of  gambling 
I  nurtured  no  doubts.  Or,  at  the  worst,  I  felt 
certain  of  its  comparative  morality  when  laid  be 
side  such  commerces  as  banks  and  markets  and 
fields  of  plain  barter  and  sale.  There  is  no  trade 
(I  said)  save  that  of  the  hands  which  is  held  by 
the  tether  of  any  honesty.  The  carpenter  sawing 
boards,  the  smith  who  beats  out  a  horseshoe,  the 
mason  busy  with  trowel  and  mortar  on  sun- 
blistered  scaffolds,  hoarsely  shouting  "  More 
bricks !  "  they  in  their  way  of  life  are  honest. 
They  are  bound  to  integrity  because  they  couldn't 
cheat  if  they  would.  But  is  the  merchant  selling 
the  false  for  the  real — the  shoddy  for  the  true — 
is  the  merchant  whose  advertisements  are  as  so 
many  false  pretences  paid  for  by  the  line — is  he 
more  honest  than  the  one  who  cheats  with  cards? 
Is  the  lawyer  looking  looks  of  wisdom  to  hide 

318 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

the  emptiness  of  his  ignorance?  Is  the  doctor, 
profound  of  mien,  who  shakes  portentous  head, 
medicining  a  victim  not  because  he  has  a  malady 
but  because  he  has  a  million  dollars? 

And  if  it  become  a  question  of  fashion,  why 
then,  age  in  and  age  out,  the  gambler  has  been 
often  noble  and  sometimes  royal.  In  the  days 
of  the  Stuarts,  or  later  among  the  dull  ones  of 
Hanover,  was  it  the  peasant  or  the  prince  who 
wagered  his  gold  at  cards?  Why  man!  every 
royal  court  was  a  gambling  house;  every  king, 
save  one — and  he  disloved  and  at  the  last  insane 
— a  gambler.  Are  not  two-thirds  of  the  homes 
of  our  American  nobility — our  folk  of  millions  and 
Fifth  Avenue — replete  of  faro  and  roulette  and  the 
very  hotbed  of  a  poisonous  bridge  whist?  Fy, 
man,  fy!  you  who  denounce  gambling  but  preach 
your  own  plebeianism — proclaim  your  own  vul 
garity  !  The  gambler  has  been  ever  the  patrician. 

With  but  one  table,  whereat  I  would  preside  as 
dealer,  I  required  no  multitude  to  man  The  Shot 
gun.  I  called  to  my  aid  three  gentlemen  of  for 
tune — seedy  and  in  want  they  were  and  glad  to 
earn  a  dollar.  One  was  to  be  sentinel  at  the  door, 
one  would  perch  Argus-like  on  the  lookout's  stool, 
while  the  third, — an  old  suspicious  camp-follower 
of  Chance, — kept  the  case.  This  latter,  cautious 
man !  declined  my  service  unless  I  put  steel  bars 
on  the  only  door,  and  as  well  on  the  only  window. 
These  he  conceived  to  be  some  safeguard  against 

319 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

invasions.  They  were  not ;  but  I  spent  money  to 
put  them  in  place  to  the  end  that  his  fluttered 
nerves  be  stilled  and  he  won  to  my  standard.  And 
at  that,  he  later  pursued  his  business  as  case- 
keeper  with  an  ear  on  the  door  and  an  eye  on  the 
small  barred  window,  sitting  the  while  half  aloof 
from  the  table  and  pushing  the  case-buttons  as 
the  cards  fell  from  the  box  with  a  timid  forefinger 
and  as  though  he  proposed  no  further  immersion 
in  current  crime  than  was  absolutely  demanded  by 
the  duties  of  his  place.  He  sat  throughout  the 
games  a  picture  of  apprehension. 

For  myself,  and  to  promote  my  profits,  I  gave 
both  my  people  and  my  customers  every  verbal 
bond  of  safety.  The  story  went  abroad  that  I 
was  "  protected;"  that  no  wolf  of  the  police  dared 
so  much  as  glance  at  flock  of  mine.  The  Shotgun 
was  immune  of  arrest,  so  ran  the  common  tale, 
and  as  much  as  leer  and  look  and  smile  and  shrug 
of  shoulder  might  furnish  them  I  gave  the  story 
wings. 

This  public  theory  of  safety  was  necessary 
to  success.  In  the  then  hectic  conditions,  and 
briskly  in  the  rear  of  a  stern  suppression  of 
resorts  that  had  flourished  for  decades  unshaken 
of  the  law,  wanting  this  feeling  of  security  there 
would  have  come  not  one  dollar  to  take  its  hope 
ful  chances  at  The  Shotgun.  As  it  was,  how 
ever,  the  belief  that  I  lived  amply  "  protected  " 
took  prompt  deep  root.  And  the  fact  that  The 

320 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

Shotgun  opened  in  the  face  of  storms  which 
smote  without  pity  upon  others,  was  itself  re 
garded  as  proof  beyond  dispute.  No  one  would 
court  such  dangers  unless  his  footing  were  as  un 
shakable  as  Gibraltar.  Thereupon  folk  with  a 
heart  for  faro  came  blithely  and  stood  four  deep 
about  my  one  table;  vast  was  the  business  I  ac 
complished  and  vast  were  the  sums  changed  in. 
And  behold!  I  widely  prospered. 

When  I  founded  The  Shotgun,  I  was  richer  of 
hope  than  of  money ;  but  fortune  smiled  and  with 
in  a  fortnight  my  treasure  was  told  by  thousands. 
Indeed,  my  patrons  played  as  play  those  who  are 
starved  to  gamble;  that  recess  of  faro  enforced  of 
the  police  had  made  them  hawk-hungry.  And  my 
gains  rolled  in. 

While  I  fostered  the  common  thought  that  no 
interference  of  the  law  would  occur  and  The  Shot 
gun  was  sacred  ground,  I  felt  within  my  own 
breast  a  sense  of  much  unsafety.  Damocles  with 
his  sword — hung  of  a  hair  and  shaken  of  a  breeze 
— could  have  been  no  more  eaten  of  unease.  I 
knew  that  I  was  wooing  disaster,  challenging  a 
deepest  peril.  The  moment  The  Shotgun  be 
came  a  part  of  police  knowledge,  I  was  lost. 

Still,  I  dealt  on ;  the  richness  of  my  rewards  the 
inducement  and  the  optimism  of  the  born  gambler 
giving  me  courage  to  proceed.  It  fed  my  vanity, 
too,  and  hugely  pleased  my  pride  to  be  thus  looked 
upon  as  eminent  in  my  relations  with  the  powers 
21  321 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

that  ruled.     They  were  proud,  even  though  par 
lous  days,  those  days  when  I  ran  The  Shotgun. 

While  I  walked  the  field  of  my  enterprise  like 
a  conqueror,  I  was  not  without  the  prudence  that 
taketh  account  in  advance  and  prepareth  for  a 
fall.  Aside  from  the  table  whereon  dwelt  the  lay 
out,  box  and  check  rack,  and  those  half-dozen 
chairs  which  encircled  it,  the  one  lone  piece  of 
furniture  which  The  Shotgun  boasted  was  a  rotund 
lounge.  Those  who  now  and  then  reposed  them 
selves  thereon  noted  and  denounced  its  hard  un- 
fitness.  There  \vas  neither  softness  nor  spring  to 
that  lounge ;  to  sit  upon  it  was  as  though  one  sat 
upon  a  Saratoga  trunk.  But  it  wras  in  a  farthest 
corner  and  distant  as  much  as  might  be  from  the 
game ;  and  therefore  there  arose  but  few  to  try  its 
indurated  merits  and  complain. 

That  lounge  of  unsympathetic  seat  was  my 
secret — my  refuge — my  last  resort.  I  alone  was 
aware  of  its  construction;  and  that  I  might  be 
thus  alone,  I  had  been  to  hidden  and  especial 
pains  to  bring  it  from  New  York  myself.  That 
lounge  was  no  more,  no  less  than  a  huge,  capaci 
ous  box.  You  might  lift  the  seat  and  it  would 
open  like  a  trunk.  Within  was  ample  room  for 
one  to  lie  at  length.  Once  in  one  could  let  down 
the  cover  and  lock  it  on  the  inside;  that  done, 
there  again  it  stood  to  the  casual  eye,  a  lounge, 
nothing  save  a  lounge  and  neither  hint  nor  token 
of  the  fugitive  within. 

322 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

My  plan  to  save  myself  when  the  crash  should 
come  was  plain  and  sure.  There  were  but  two 
lights — gas  jets,  both — in  The  Shotgun ;  these  were 
immediately  above  the  table,  low  hung  and  capped 
with  green  shades  to  save  the  eyes  of  players.  The 
light  was  reflected  upon  the  layout;  all  else  was 
in  the  shadow.  This  lack  of  light  was  no  draw 
back  to  my  popularity.  Your  folk  who  gamble 
cavil  not  at  shadows  for  themselves  so  long  as 
cards  and  deal-box  are  kept  strongly  in  the 
glare.  In  event  of  a  raid,  it  was  my  programme 
to  extinguish  the  two  lights — a  feat  easily  per- 
formable  from  the  dealer's  chair — and  seizing  the 
money  in  the  drawer,  grope  my  way  under  cover 
of  darkness  for  that  excellent  lounge  and  conceal 
myself.  It  would  be  the  work  of  a  moment;  the 
folk  would  be  huddled  about  the  table  and  not 
about  the  lounge ;  the  time  lost  by  the  police  while 
breaking  through  those  defences  of  bars  and  bolts 
would  be  more  than  enough. 

By  the  time  the  lights  were  again  turned  on 
and  the  Goths  in  possession,  I  would  have  disap 
peared.  No  one  would  know  how  and  none  know 
where.  When  the  blue  enemy,  despairing  of  my 
apprehension,  had  at  last  withdrawn  with  what 
prisoners  had  been  made,  I  would  be  left  alone. 
I  might  then  uncover  myself  and  take  such  sub 
sequent  flight  as  best  became  my  liberty  and  its 
continuance. 

Often  I  went  over  this  plan  in  my  thoughts — 

323 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

a  fashion  of  mental  rehearsal,  as  it  were — and  the 
more  I  considered  the  more  certain  I  became  that 
when  the  pinch  arrived  it  would  not  fail.  As  I've 
stated,  none  shared  with  me  my  secret  of  that 
hinged  and  hollow  couch;  it  was  my  insurance — 
my  cave  of  retreat  in  any  tornado  of  the  law ;  and 
the  knowledge  thereof  steadied  me  and  aided  my 
courage  to  compose  those  airs  of  cheerful  con 
fidence  which  taught  others  safety  and  gave  coun 
tenance  to  the  story  of  my  unqualified  and  sure 
"  protection !  "  Alas !  for  the  hour  that  unmasked 
me;  from  that  moment  The  Shotgun  fell  away; 
my  stream  of  golden  profits  ran  dry;  from  a 
spectacle  of  reverence  and  respect  I  became  the 
nine-day  byword  of  my  tribe! 

It  was  a  crowded,  thriving  midnight  at  The 
Shotgun.  I  had  been  running  an  uninterrupted 
quartette  of  months ;  and  having  had  good  luck  to 
the  point  of  miracles,  my  finances  were  flourish 
ing  with  five  figures  in  their  plethoric  count. 
From  a  few  poor  hundreds,  my  "  roll  "  when  I 
snapped  the  rubber  band  about  it  and  planted 
it  deep  within  the  safety  of  my  pocket,  held 
over  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Quite  a  fortune; 
and  so  I  thought  myself. 

It  was,  I  repeat,  a  busy,  winning  midnight  at 
The  Shotgun.  There  were  doubtless  full  forty 
visitors  in  the  cramped  room.  These  were  crowd 
ed  about  the  table,  for  the  most  part  playing, 
reaching  over  each  other's  shoulders  or  under 

324 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

each  other's  elbows,  any  way  and  every  way  to 
get  their  wagers  on  the  layout.  I  was  dealing, 
while  to  right  and  left  sat  my  henchmen  of  the 
lookout  and  the  case. 

As  on  every  evening,  I  lived  on  the  feather- 
edge  of  apprehension,  fearing  a  raid.  My  eye 
might  be  on  the  thirteen  cards  and  the  little  for 
tunes  they  carried,  but  my  ear  was  ever  alert  for 
a  first  dull  footfall  that  would  tell  of  destruction 
on  its  lowering  way. 

There  had  been  four  hours  of  brisk,  remunera 
tive  play — for  the  game  began  at  eight — when,  in 
the  middle  of  a  deal,  there  came  the  rush  of  heavy 
feet  and  a  tumult  of  stumblings  and  blunderings 
on  the  stair.  It  was  as  if  folk  unaccustomed  to 
the  way — it  being  pitch  dark  on  the  stairway  for 
caution's  sake — and  in  vast  eagerness  to  reach 
the  door,  had  tripped  and  fallen.  Also,  if  one 
might  judge  from  the  uproar  and  smothered,  deep 
profanity  of  many  voices  there  were  a  score  en 
gaged. 

To  my  quick  intelligence,  itself  for  long  on  the 
rack  of  expectancy  and  therefore  doubly  keen, 
there  seemed  but  one  answer  to  the  question,  of 
that  riot  on  the  stair.  It  was  the  police;  the 
Philistines  were  upon  me ;  my  gold  mine  of  The 
Shotgun  had  become  the  target  of  a  raid ! 

It  was  the  labor  of  an  instant.  With  both  hands 
I  turned  out  the  lights ;  then  stuffing  my  entire 
fortune  into  my  pockets  I  began  to  push  through 

325 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

the  ranks  of  bewildered  gentlemen  who  stood 
swearing  in  frightened  undertones  expecting  evil. 
Silently  and  with  a  cat's  stealth,  I  found  my  way 
in  the  pitch  blackness  to  the  lounge.  As  I  had 
foreseen,  no  one  was  about  it  to  discover  or  to 
interfere.  Softly  I  raised  the  cover;  in  a  moment 
I  was  within.  Lying  on  my  side  for  comfort's 
sake,  I  again  turned  ear  to  passing  events.  I  had 
locked  the  lounge  and  believed  myself  insured. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  room  and  in  the  hall  be 
yond  my  grated  door,  the  tumult  gathered  and 
grew.  There  came  various  exclamations. 

"  Who  doused  those  glims  ?  " 

"  Light  up,  somebody." 

Also,  there  befell  a  volley  of  blows  and  kicks 
and  thumps  on  The  Shotgun's  iron  portals;  and 
gruff  commands : 

"Open  the  door!" 

Then  some  one  produced  a  match  and  relighted 
the  gas.  I  might  tell  that  by  a  ray  about  the  size 
and  color  of  a  wheat-straw  which  suddenly  bored 
its  yellow  way  through  a  hole  in  my  shelter.  The 
clamor  still  proceeded  at  the  door;  it  seemed  to 
augment. 

Since  there  could  be  no  escape — for  every  soul 
saw  himself  caught  like  a  rat  in  a  trap — the  door 
was  at  last  unbarred  and  opened,  desperately.  Of 
what  avail  would  it  be  to  force  the  arresting  party 
to  break  its  way?  In  despair  the  door  was  thrown 
wide  and  each  of  those  within  braced  himself  to 

326 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

meet  his  fate.  After  all,  to  visit  a  gambling  place 
was  not  the  great  crime ;  the  cornered  ones  might 
feel  fairly  secure.  It  was  the  "  proprietor  "  for 
whom  the  law  kept  sharpest  tooth! 

When  the  door  opened,  it  opened  to  the  admis 
sion  of  a  most  delightful  disappointment.  There 
appeared  no  police;  no  grim  array  of  those  sky- 
lined  watch-dogs  of  the  city's  peace  and  order 
rushed  through  in  search  of  quarry.  Instead 
came  innocently,  deviously,  and  with  uncertain, 
shuffling  steps,  five  separate  drunken  gentlemen. 
There  had  been  a  dinner;  they  had  fed  deeply, 
drunk  deeply;  it  was  now  their  pleasure  to  relax 
themselves  at  play.  That  was  all ;  they  had  sought 
The  Shotgun  with  the  best  of  motives;  the  con 
fusion  on  the  stair  was  the  offspring  of  darkness 
and  drink  when  brought  to  a  conjunction.  NowT 
they  were  within,  and  reading  in  the  faces  about 
them — even  through  the  mists  of  their  condition — 
the  terrors  their  advent  inspired,  the  visiting  sots 
were  much  abashed;  they  stood  silent,  and  like 
the  lamb  before  the  shearer,  they  were  dumb  and 
opened  not  their  mouths. 

But  discovering  a  danger  past,  the  general 
mood  soon  changed.  There  was  a  space  of  tacit 
staring;  then  came  a  rout  of  laughter.  Every 
throat,  lately  so  parched,  now  shouted  with  de 
rision.  The  common  fear  became  the  common 
jeer. 


327 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Then  up  started  the  surprised  question: 

"Where's  Jack?" 

It  had  origin  with  one  to  be  repeated  by  twenty. 

"Where's  Jack?" 

The  barred  window  was  still  barred;  I  had  not 
gone  through  the  door;  how  had  I  managed  my 
disappearance?  It  was  witchery! — or  like  the 
flitting  of  a  ghost !  Even  in  my  refuge  I  could 
feel  the  awe  and  the  chill  that  began  to  creep 
about  my  visitors  as  they  looked  uneasily  and  re 
peated,  as  folk  who  touch  some  graveyard  mys 
tery: 

"Where's  Jack?" 

There  was  no  help;  fate  held  me  in  a  corner 
and  never  a  crack  of  escape !  Shame-faced,  dust- 
sprinkled  and  perspiring  like  a  harvest  hand — for 
my  hiding  place  was  not  Nova  Zembla — I  threw 
back  the  top  of  the  lounge  and  stood  there — the 
image  of  confusion — the  "  man  with  a  pull  " — the 
ally  of  the  powers — the  "  protected  "  proprietor 
of  The  Shotgun !  There  was  a  moment  of  silence ; 
and  next  fell  a  whirlwind  of  mirth. 

There  is  no  argument  for  saying  more.  I  was 
laughed  out  of  Providence  and  into  New  York. 
The  Shotgun  was  laughed  out  of  existence.  And 
with  it  all,  I  too,  laughed;  for  was  it  not  good, 
even  though  inadvertent  comedy?  Also,  was  it 
not  valuable  comedy  to  leave  me  better  by  half  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars — that  comedy  of  The 
Shotgun?  And  thereupon,  while  I  closed  my 

328  ' 


WHEN  I  RAN  THE  SHOTGUN. 

game,  I  opened  my  mouth  widely  and  laughed 
with  the  others.  In  green-cloth  circles  the  story 
is  still  told;  and  whenever  I  encounter  a  friend 
of  former  days,  I'm  inevitably  recalled  to  my 
lounge-holdout  and  that  midnight  stampede  of 
The  Shotgun. 


"  That's  where  the  west/'  observed  the  Old  Cat 
tleman,  who  had  given  delighted  ear  to  the  Red 
Nosed  Gentleman's  story,  "  that's  where  the  west 
has  the  best  of  the  east.  In  Arizona  a  passel  of 
folks  engaged  in  testin'  the  demerits  of  farobank 
ain't  runnin'  no  more  resks  of  the  constables  than 
they  be  of  chills  an'  fever." 

"  There  are  laws  against  gambling  in  the  west  ?  " 
This  from  the  Jolly  Doctor. 

"  Shore,  thar's  laws." 

"Why,  then,  aren't  they  enforced?" 

"  This  yere's  the  reason,"  responded  the  Old 
Cattleman.  "  Thar's  so  much  more  law  than  force, 
that  what  force  exists  is  wholly  deevoted  to  a 
round-up  of  rustlers  an'  stage  hold-ups  an'  sech. 
Besides,  it's  the  western  notion  to  let  every  gent 
skin  his  own  eel,  an'  the  last  thing  thought  of  is 
to  protect  you  from  yourse'f.  No  kyard  sharp 
can  put  a  crimp  in  you  onless  you  freely  offers 
him  a  chance,  an'  if  you-all  is  willin',  why  should 
the  public  paint  for  war?  In  the  east  every  gent 

329 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

is  tryin'  to  play  some  other  gent's  hand;  not  so 
in  that  tolerant  region  styled  the  west.  Which  it 
ain't  too  much  to  say  that  folks  get  killed — an' 
properly — in  the  west  for  possessin'  what  the  east 
calls  virchoos."  And  here  the  Old  Cattleman 
shook  his  head  sagely  over  a  western  superiority. 
[<  The  east  mixes  itse'f  too  much  in  a  gent's  private 
affairs.  Now  if  Deef  Smith  an'  Colonel  Morton  " 
he  concluded,  "  had  ondertook  to  pull  off  their 
dooel  in  the  east  that  Texas  time,  the  east  would 
have  come  down  on  'em  like  a  fallin'  star  an' 
squelched  it." 

"  And  what  was  this  duel  you  speak  of?  "  asked 
the  Sour  Gentleman.  "  I,  for  one,  would  be  most 
ready  to  hear  the  story.1' 

"  Which  it's  the  story  of  *  When  the  Capitol 
Was  Moved.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

When  the  joobilant  Texans  set  down  to  kyarve 
out  the  destinies  of  that  empire  they  wrests  from 
the  feeble  paws  of  the  Mexicans  an'  Santa  Anna, 
they  decides  on  Austin  for  the  Capitol  an'  Old 
Houston  to  be  President.  An'  I'll  say  right  yere, 
Old  Houston,  by  all  roomer  an'  tradition,  is 
mighty  likely  the  most  presidential  president  that 
ever  keeps  a  republic  guessin'  as  to  whatever  is 
he  goin'  to  do  next.  Which  he's  as  full  of  sur 
prises  as  a  night  in  Red  Dog. 

About  the  first  dash  outen  the  box,  Old  Hous 
ton  gets  himse'f  into  trouble  with  two  Lone  Star 
leadin'  citizens  whose  names,  respective,  is  Colonel 
Morton  an'  jedge  Webb. 

Old  Houston  himse'f  on  the  hocks  of  them 
victories  he  partic'pates  in,  an'  bein'  selected  presi 
dent  like  I  say,  grows  as  full  of  vanity  as  a 
prairie  dog.  Shore!  he's  a  hero;  the  drawback 
is  that  his  notion  of  demeanin'  himse'f  as  sech 
is  to  spread  his  tail  feathers  an'  strut.  Old  Hous 
ton  gets  that  puffed  up,  an'  his  dignity  is  that 

331 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

egreegious,  he  feels  crowded  if  a  gent  tries  to 
walk  on  the  same  street  with  him. 

Colonel  Morton  an'  Jedge  Webb  themse'fs 
wades  through  that  carnage  from  soda  to  hock 
freein'  Texas,  an'  they  sort  o'  riggers  that  these 
yere  services  entitles  them  to  be  heard  some. 
Old  Houston,  who's  born  with  a  notion  that  he's 
doo-  to  make  what  public  uproar  every  o'casion 
demands,  don't  encourage  them  two  patriots.  He 
only  listens  now  an'  then  to  Morton ;  an'  as  for 
Jedge  Webb,  he  jest  won't  let  that  jurist  talk  at 
all. 

"  An'  for  these  yere  followin'  reasons  to  wit," 
explains  Old  Houston,  when  some  Austin  sports 
puts  it  to  him  p'lite,  but  steadfast,  that  he's  onjust 
to  Webb.  "  I  permits  Morton  to  talk  some,  be 
cause  it  don't  make  a  splinter  of  difference  what 
Morton  says.  He  can  talk  on  any  side  of  any 
subject  an'  no  one's  ediot  enough  to  pay  the  least 
attention  to  them  remarks.  But  this  sityooation 
is  changed  when  you-all  gets  to  Webb.  He's  a 
disaster.  Webb  never  opens  his  mouth  without 
subtractin'  from  the  sum  total  of  hooman  knowl 
edge." 

When  Morton  hears  of  them  remarks  he  re- 
gyards  himse'f  as  wronged. 

"  An'  if  Old  Houston,"  observes  Morton,  who's 
a  knife  fighter  an'  has  sliced  offensive  gents  from 
time  to  time;  "an'  if  Old  Houston  ain't  more 


332 


COLONEL  MORTON. 


WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

gyarded  in  his  remarks,  I'll  take  to  disapproval' 
of  his  conduct  with  a  bowie." 

As  I  intimates,  Old  Houston  is  that  pride-blown 
that  you-all  couldn't  stay  on  the  same  range  where 
he  is.  An'  he's  worried  to  a  standstill  for  a  openin' 
to  onload  on  the  Texas  public  a  speciment  of  his 
dignity.  At  last,  seein'  the  chances  comin'  some 
slow,  he  ups  an'  constructs  the  opportunity  him- 
se'f. 

Old  Houston's  home-camp,  that  a-way,  is  at  a 
hamlet  named  Washington  down  on  the  Brazos. 
It's  thar  he  squanders  the  heft  of  his  leesure  when 
not  back  of  the  game  as  President  over  to  Austin. 
Thar's  a  clause  in  the  constitootion  which,  while 
pitchin'  onto  Austin  as  the  public's  home-ranche 
or  capitol,  permits  the  President  in  the  event  of 
perils  onforeseen  or  invasions  or  sech,  to  round 
up  the  archives  an'  move  the  capitol  camp  a  whole 
lot.  Old  Houston,  eager  to  be  great,  seizes  onto 
this  yere  tenet. 

"  I'll  jest  sort  o'  order  the  capitol  to  come  clown, 
yere  where  I  live  at,"  says  Old  Houston,  "  an' 
tharby  call  the  waverin'  attention  of  the  Lone  Star 
public  to  who  I  be." 

As  leadin'  up  to  this  atrocity  an'  to  come  within 
the  constitootion,  Old  Houston  allows  that  Austin 
is  menaced  by  Comanches.  Shore,  it  ain't  men 
aced  none ;  Austin  would  esteem  the  cleanin'  out 
of  that  entire  Comanche  tribe  as  the  labors  of  a 
holiday.  But  it  fills  into  Old  Houston's  hand  to 

333 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

make  this  bluff  as  a  excuse.  An'  with  that,  he 
issues  the  order  to  bring  the  whole  gov'ment  lay 
out  down  to  where  he  lives. 

No,  as  I  tells  you-all  before,  Austin  ain't  in  no 
more  danger  of  Comanches  than  she  is  of  j'inin' 
the  church.  Troo,  these  yere  rannikaboo  savages 
does  show  up  in  paint  an'  feathers  over  across 
the  Colorado  once  or  twice ;  but  beyond  a  whoop 
or  two  an'  a  little  permiscus  shootin'  into  town 
which  nobody  minds,  them  vis'tations  don't  count. 

To  give  you-all  gents  a  idee  how  little  is  deemed 
of  Comanches  by  them  Texas  forefathers,  let  me 
say  a  word  of  Bill  Spence  who  keeps  a  store  in 
Austin.  Bill's  addin'  up  Virg  Home's  accounts 
one  afternoon  in  his  books. 

"  One  pa'r  of  yaller-top,  copper-toe  boots  for 
Virg,  joonior,  three  dollars;  one  red  caFco  dress 
for  Missis  Virg,  two  dollars,"  goes  on  Bill. 

At  this  epock  Bill  hears  a  yowl ;  glancin'  out  of 
the  winder,  he  counts  a  couple  of  hundred  Injuns 
who's  proselytin'  about  over  on  t'other  side  of 
the  river.  Bill  don't  get  up  none;  he  jests  looks 
annoyed  on  account  of  that  yellin'  puttin'  him 
out  in  his  book-keepin'. 

As  a  bullet  from  them  savages  comes  singin'  in 
the  r'ar  door  an'  buries  itse'f  in  a  ham,  Bill  even 
gets  incensed. 

"  Hiram,"  he  calls  to  his  twelve-year  old  son, 
who's  down  cellar  drawin'  red-eye  for  a  customer ; 
"  Hiram,  you-all  take  pop's  rifle,  raise  the  hind- 

334 


WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

sight  for  three  hundred  yards,  an'  reprove  them 
hostiles.  Aim  low,  Hiram,  an'  if  you  fetches  one, 
pop'll  give  you  a  seegyar  an'  let  you  smoke  it 
yourse'f." 

Bill  goes  back  to  Virg  Home's  account,  an* 
Hiram  after  slammin'  away  with  Bill's  old  Haw 
kins  once  or  twice  comes  in  an'  gets  his  seegyar. 

No;  Old  Houston  does  wrong  when  he  flings 
forth  this  yere  ukase  about  movin'  the  capitol. 
Austin,  even  if  a  gent  does  have  to  dodge  a  arrer 
or  duck  a  bullet  as  he  prosecootes  his  daily  tasks, 
is  as  safe  as  a  camp-meetin'. 

When  Old  Houston  makes  the  order,  one  of 
his  Brazos  pards  reemonstrates  with  him. 

"  Which  Austin  will  simply  go  into  the  air  all 
spraddled  out,"  says  this  pard. 

"  If  Austin  sails  up  in  the  air  an'  stays  thar," 
says  Old  Houston,  "  still  you-all  can  gamble  that 
this  yere  order  goes." 

"  You  hears,"  says  another,  "  Elder  Peters  when 
he  tells  of  how  a  Mexican  named  Mohammed 
commands  the  mountain  to  come  to  him  ?  But  the 
mountain  calls  his  bluff;  that  promontory  stands 
pat,  an'  Mohammed  has  to  go  to  the  mountain." 

"  My  name's  Sam  Houston  an'  it  ain't  Mo- 
hommed,"  retorts  Old  Houston.  "  Moreover, 
Mohammed  don't  have  no  written  constitootion." 

Nacherally,  when  Austin  gets  notice  of  Old 
Houston's  plan,  that  meetropolis  r'ars  back  an* 
screams.  The  faro-bank  folks  an'  the  tavern  folks 

335 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

is  speshul  malignant,  an'  it  ain't  no  time  before 
they-all  convenes  a  meetin'  to  express  their  views 
on  Old  Houston.  Morton  an'  Jedge  Webb  does 
the  oratory.  An'  you  hear  me !  that  assembly 
is  shore  sultry.  Which  the  epithets  they  applies 
to  Old  Houston  kills  the  grass  for  twenty  rods 
about. 

Austin  won't  move. 

Austin  resolves  to  go  to  war  first ;  a  small  army 
is  organized  with  Morton  in  command  to  gyard 
the  State  House  an'  the  State  books  that  a-way, 
an'  keep  Old  Houston  from  romancin'  over  an' 
packin'  'em  off  a  heap. 

Morton  is  talkin'  an'  Webb  is  presidin'  over 
this  yere  convocation — which  the  said  meetin'  is 
that  large  an'  enthoosiastic  it  plumb  chokes  up 
the  hall  an'  overflows  into  the  street — when  all  of 
a  sudden  a  party  comes  swingin'  through  the  open 
winder  from  the  top  of  a  scrub-oak  that  grows 
alongside  the  buildin',  an'  drops  light  as  a  cat 
onto  the  platform  with  Morton  an'  Webb.  At 
this  yere  interruption,  affairs  comes  to  a  halt,  an' 
the  local  sports  turns  in  to  consider  an'  count  up 
the  -invader. 

This  gent  who  swoops  through  the  wrinder  is 
dark,  big,  bony  an?  tall ;  his  ha'r  is  lank  an'  long 
as  the  mane  of  a  hoss;  his  eyes  is  deep  an'  black; 
his  face,  tanned  like  a  Injun's,  seems  hard  as  iron. 
He's  dressed  in  leather  from  foretop  to  fetlock, 
is  shod  with  a  pa'r  of  Comanche  moccasins,  an' 

336 


WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

besides  a  'leven  inch  knife  in  his  belt,  packs  a 
rifle  with  a  48-inch  bar'l.  It  will  weigh  twenty 
pounds,  an'  yet  this  stranger  handles  it  like  it's 
a  willow  switch. 

As  this  darksome  gent  lands  in  among  Morton 
an'  Webb,  he  stands  thar  without  sayin'  a  word. 
Webb,  on  his  part,  is  amazed,  while  Morton 
glowers. 

"  Whatever  do  you-all  regyard  as  a  market 
price  for  your  skelp?'"  says  Morton  to  the  black 
interloper,  at  the  same  time  loosenin'  his  knife. 

The  black  stranger  makes  no  reply;  his  hand 
flashes  to  hit,  bowie,  while  his  face  still  wears  its 
iron  look. 

Webb,  some  hurried,  pushes  in  between  Morton 
an'  the  black  stranger.  Webb  is  more  for  peace 
an9  don't  believe  in  beginnin'  negotiations  with  a 
knife. 

Webb  dictates  a  passel  of  p'lite  queries  to  this 
yere  black  stranger.  Tharupon,  the  black  stranger 
bows  p'lite  an'  formal,  an'  goin'  over  to  the 
table  writes  down  in  good  English,  "  I'm  deef 
an'  dumb.''  Next,  he  searches  outen  his  war- 
bags  a  letter.  It's  from  Old  Houston  over  on 
the  Brazos.  Old  Houston  allows  that  onless 
Austin  comes  trailin'  in  with  them  records  within 
three  days,  he'll  ride  over  a  whole  lot  an'  make 
the  round-up  himse'f.  Old  Houston  declar's  that 
Austin  by  virchoo  of  them  Comanches  is  as  on- 
safe  as  a  Christian  in  Mississippi,  an'  he  don't 
22  337 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

aim  to  face  no  sech  dangers  while  performin'  his 
dooties  as  President  of  the  Commonwealth. 

After  the  black  stranger  flings  the  letter  on  the 
table,  he's  organizin'  to  go  out  through  the  winder 
ag'in.  But  Morton  sort  o'  detains  him.  Morton 
writes  on  the  paper  that  now  the  black  stranger 
is  through  his  dooties  as  a  postman,  he  will,  if  he's 
a  dead  game  sport,  stay  over  a  day,  an'  him  an' 
Morton  will  entertain  themse'fs  by  pullin'  off  a 
war  of  their  own.  The  idee  strikes  the  black 
stranger  as  plenty  good,  an'  while  his  face  still 
wears  its  ca'm,  hard  look,  he  writes  onder  Mor 
ton's  bluff: 

"  Rifles ;  no'th  bank  of  the  Colorado ;  sun-down, 
this  evenin'." 

The  next  moment  he  leaps  from  the  platform 
to  the  winder  an'  from  thar  to  the  ground,  an' 
is  gone. 

"  But  Colonel  Morton,"  reemonstrates  Webb, 
who's  some  scand'lized  at  Morton  hookin'  up  for 
blood  with  this  yere  black  stranger ;  "  you-all 
shorely  don't  aim  to  fight  this  party?  He's  deef 
an'  dumb,  which  is  next  to  bein'  locoed  outright. 
Moreover,  a  gent  of  your  standin'  can't  afford  to 
go  ramblin'  about,  lockin'  horns  with  every  on- 
known  miscreant  who  comes  buttin'  in  with  a 
missif  from  President  Houston,  an'  then  goes 
stampedin'  through  a  winder  by  way  of  exit." 

"Onknown!"  retorts  Morton.     "That  letter- 


338 


WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

packin'  person  is  as  well  known  as  the  Rio  Grande. 
That's  Deef  Smith." 

"  Colonel  Morton,"  observes  Webb,  some  hor 
rified  when  he  learns  the  name  of  the  black 
stranger,  "  this  yere  Deef  Smith  is  a  shore  shot. 
They  say  he  can  empty  a  Comanche  saddle  four 
times  in  five  at  three  hundred  yards." 

"  That  may  be  as  it  may,"  returns  Morton. 
"  If  I  downs  him,  so  much  the  more  credit ;  if  he 
gets  me,  at  the  worst  I  dies  by  a  famous  hand." 

The  sun  is  restin'  on  the  sky-line  over  to  the 
west.  Austin  has  done  crossed  the  Colorado  an' 
lined  up  to  witness  this  yere  dooel.  Deef  Smith 
comes  ridin'  in  from  some'ers  to  the  no'th,  slides 
outen  the  saddle,  pats  his  hoss  on  the  neck,  an' 
leaves  him  organized  an'  ready  fifty  yards  to  one 
side.  Then  Deef  Smith  steps  to  the  center  an' 
touches  his  hat,  mil'tary  fashion,  to  Morton  an' 
Webb. 

These  yere  cavaliers  is  to  shoot  it  out  at  one 
hundred  yards.  As  they  takes  their  places,  Mor 
ton  says: 

"  Jedge  Webb,  if  this  Deef  Smith  party  gets 
me,  as  most  like  he  will,  send  my  watch  to  my 
mother  in  Looeyville." 

Then  they  fronts  each  other;  one  in  brown 
leather,  the  other  in  cloth  as  good  as  gold  can 
buy.  No  one  thinks  of  any  difference  between 
'em,  however,  in  a  day  when  courage  is  the  test 
of  aristocracy. 

339 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Since  one  gent  can't  hear,  Webb  is  to  give  the 
word  with  a  handkerchief.  At  the  first  flourish 
the  rifles  fall  to  a  hor'zontal  as  still  an'  steady  as 
a  rock.  Thar's  a  brief  pause;  then  Webb  drops 
his  handkerchief. 

Thar  is  a  crack  like  one  gun;  Deef  Smith's  hat 
half  turns  on  his  head  as  the  bullet  cuts  it,  while 
Morton  stands  a  moment  an'  then,  without  a 
sound,  falls  dead  on  his  face.  The  lead  from  Deef 
Smith's  big  rifle  drills  him  through  the  heart. 
Also,  since  it  perforates  that  gold  repeater,  an'  as 
the  blood  sort  o'  clogs  the  works,  the  Austin 
folks  decides  it's  no  use  to  send  it  on  to  Looey- 
ville,  but  retains  it  that  a-way  as  a  keepsake. 

With  the  bark  of  the  guns  an'  while  the  white 
smoke's  still  hangin'  to  mark  the  spot  where  he 
stands,  Deef  Smith's  hoss  runs  to  him  like  a  dog. 
The  next  instant  Deef  Smith  is  in  the  saddle  an' 
away.  It's  jest  as  well.  Morton's  plenty  pop'lar 
with  the  Austin  folks  an'  mebby  some  sharp,  in 
the  first  hysteria  of  a  great  loss,  overlooks  what's 
doo  to  honor  an'  ups  an'  plugs  this  yere  Deef 
Smith. 


The  Old  Cattleman  made  a  long  halt  as  indica 
tive  that  his  story  was  at  an  end.  There  was  a 
moment  of  silence,  and  then  the  Jolly  Doctor 
spoke  up. 

340 


WHEN  THE  CAPITOL  WAS  MOVED. 

"  But  how  about  the  books  and  papers?  "  asked 
the  Jolly  Doctor. 

"  Oh,  nothin'  partic'lar,"  said  the  Old  Cattle 
man.  "  It  turns  out  like  Old  Houston  prophe 
sies.  Three  days  later,  vain  an'  soopercilious,  he 
rides  in,  corrals  them  archives,  an'  totes  'em 
haughtily  off  to  the  Brazos." 

Following-  the  Old  Cattleman's  leaf  from  Lone 
Star  annals,  the  Sour  Gentleman  prepared  him 
self  to  give  us  his  farewell  page  from  the  un 
written  records  of  the  Customs. 

"  On  this,  our  last  evening,"  observed  the  Sour 
Gentleman,  "  it  seems  the  excellent  thing  to  tell 
you  what  was  practically  my  final  act  of  service 
or,  if  you  will,  disservice  with  the  Customs.  We 
may  call  the  story  '  How  the  Filibusterer  Sailed.' ' 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HOW    THE    FILIBUSTERER    SAILED. 

It  will  come  to  you  as  strange,  my  friends,  to 
hear  objection — as  though  against  an  ill  trait — 
to  that  open-handed  generosity  which  is  held  by 
many  to  be  among  the  marks  of  supreme  virtue. 
Generosity,  whether  it  be  evidenced  by  gifts  of 
money,  of  sympathy,  of  effort  or  of  time,  is  only 
another  word  for  weakness.  If  one  were  to  go 
into  careful  consideration  of  the  life-failure  of 
any  man,  it  would  be  found  most  often  that  his 
fortunes  were  slain  by  his  generosity;  and  while, 
without  consideration,  he  gave  to  others  his 
countenance,  his  friendship,  his  money,  his  toil  or 
whatever  he  conferred,  he  in  truth  but  parted 
with  his  own  future — with  those  raw  materials 
wherewith  he  would  otherwise  have  fashioned  a 
victorious  career.  Generosity,  in  a  commonest 
expression,  is  giving  more  than  one  receives;  it 
is  to  give  two  hundred  and  get  one  hundred;  he 
is  blind,  therefore,  who  does  not  see  that  any 
ardor  of  generosity  would  destroy  a  Rothschild. 

From  birth,  and  as  an  attribute  inborn,  I  have 
342 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

been  ever  too  quick  to  give.  For  a  first  part 
of  my  life  at  least,  and  until  I  shackled  my  impulse 
of  liberality,  I  was  the  constant  victim  of  that 
natural  readiness.  And  I  was  cheated  and  swin 
dled  with  every  rising  sun.  I  gave  friendship  and 
took  pretense ;  I  parted  with  money  for  words ; 
ever  I  rendered  the  real  and  received  the  false, 
and  sold  the  substance  for  the  shadow  to  any  and 
all  who  came  pleasantly  to  smile  across  my 
counter.  I  was  not  over-old,  however,  when  these 
dour  truths  broke  on  me,  and  I  began  to  teach 
myself  the  solvent  beauty  of  saying  "  No." 

During  those  months  of  exile — for  exile  it  was 
— which  I  spent  in  Washington  Square,  I  culti 
vated  misanthropy — a  hardness  of  spirit;  almost, 
I  might  say,  I  fostered  a  hatred  of  my  fellow  man. 
And  more  or  less  I  had  success.  I  became  owner 
of  much  stiffness  of  sentiment  and  a  proneness  to 
be  practical;  and  kept  ever  before  me  like  a  star 
that,  no  matter  how  unimportant  I  might  be  to 
others,  to  myself  at  least  I  was  most  important 
of  mankind.  Doubtless,  I  lost  in  grace  by  such 
studies ;  but  in  its  stead  I  succeeded  to  safety,  and 
when  we  are  at  a  final  word,  we  live  by  what  we 
keep  and  die  by  what  we  quit,  and  of  all  loyalties 
there's  no  loyalty  like  loyalty  to  one's  self. 

While  I  can  record  a  conquest  of  my  generosity 
and  its  subjugation  to  lines  of  careful  tit-for-tat, 
there  were  other  emotions  against  which  I  was 
unable  to  toughen  my  soul.  I  became  never  so 

343 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

redoubtable  that  I  could  beat  off  the  assaults  of 
shame;  never  so  puissant  of  sentiment  but  I  was 
prey  to  regrets.  For  which  weaknesses,  I  could 
not  think  on  the  affairs  of  The  Emperor's  Cigars 
and  The  German  Girl's  Diamonds,  nor  on  the 
sordid  money  I  pouched  as  their  fruits,  without 
the  blush  mounting;  nor  was  I  strong  enough  to 
consider  the  latter  adventure  and  escape  a  stab 
of  sore  remorse.  Later  could  I  have  found  the 
girl  I  would  have  made  her  restitution.  Even 
now  I  hear  again  that  scream  which  reached  me 
on  the  forward  deck  of  the  "  Wolfgang "  that 
September  afternoon. 

But  concerning  the  Cuban  filibusterer,  his  out 
sailing  against  Spain ;  and  the  gold  I  got  for  his 
going — for  these  I  say,  I  never  have  experienced 
either  confusion  or  sorrow.  My  orders  were  to 
keep  him  in;  I  opened  the  port's  gate  and  let 
him  out;  I  pocketed  my  yellow  profits.  And 
under  equal  conditions  I  would  do  as  much  again. 
It  was  an  act  of  war  against  Spain ;  yet  why 
should  one  shrink  from  one's  interest  for  a  reason 
like  that?  Where  was  the  moral  wrong?  Na 
tions  make  war;  and  what  is  right  for  a  country, 
is  right  for  a  man.  That  is  rock-embedded  verity, 
if  one  will  but  look,  and  that  which  is  dishonest 
for  an  individual  cannot  be  honest  for  a  flag. 
You  may — if  you  so  choose — make  war  on  Spain, 
and  with  as  much  of  justice  as  any  proudest  people 
that  ever  put  to  sea.  The  question  of  difference 

344 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

is  but  a  question  of  strength;  and  so  you  be 
strong  enough  you'll  be  right  enough,  I  warrant ! 
For  what  says  the  poet? 

"  Right  follows  might 
Like  tail  follows  kite." 

It  is  a  merest  truism;  we  hear  it  in  the  storm; 
the  very  waves  are  its  witnesses.  Everywhere 
and  under  each  condition,  it  is  true.  The  proof 
lies  all  about.  We  read  it  on  every  page  of  his 
tory;  behold  it  when  armies  overthrow  a  throne 
or  the  oak  falls  beneath  the  axe  of  the  woodman. 
Do  I  disfavor  war?  On  the  contrary,  I  approve 
it  as  an  institution  of  greatest  excellence.  War 
slays;  war  has  its  blood.  But  has  peace  no  vic 
tims  ?  Peace  kills  thousands  where  war  kills  tens ; 
and  if  one  is  to  consider  misery,  why  then  there 
be  more  starvation,  more  cold,  more  pain,  and 
more  suffering  in  one  year  of  New  York  City 
peace  than  pinched  and  gnawed  throughout  the 
whole  four  years  of  civil  war.  And  human  life 
is  of  comparative  small  moment.  We  say  other 
wise  ;  we  believe  otherwise ;  but  we  don't  act  other 
wise.  Action  is  life's  text.  Humanity  is  itself  the 
preacher;  in  that  silent  sermon  of  existence — an 
existence  of  world's  goods  and  their  acquirement 
— we  forever  show  the  thing  of  least  consequence 
to  be  the  life  of  man.  However,  I  am  not  myself 
to  preach,  I  who  pushed  forth  to  tell  a  story.  It 

345 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

is  the  defect  of  age  to  be  garrulous,  and  as  one's 
power  to  do  departs,  its  place  is  ever  taken  by  a 
weakness  to  talk. 

This  filibusterer  whom  I  liberated  to  sail  against 
Spain,  I  long  ago  told  you  was  called  Ryan. 
That,  however,  is  a  fictitious  name;  there  was  a 
Ryan,  and  the  Spaniards  took  his  life  at  Santiago. 
And  because  he  with  whom  I  dealt  \vas  also  put 
up  against  a  wall  and  riddled  with  Spanish  lead, 
and  further,  because  it  is  not  well  to  give  his  true 
name,  I  call  him  Ryan  now.  His  ship  rode  on 
her  rope  in  New  York  bay;  I  was  given  the  Har 
riet  Lane  to  hold  him  from  sailing  away;  his 
owners  ashore — merchants  these  and  folk  on 
'change — offered  me  ten  thousand  dollars ;  the 
gold  was  in  bags,  forty  pounds  of  it ;  I  turned 
my  back  at  evening  and  in  the  morning  he  was 
gone. 

You  have  been  told  how  I  never  thought  on 
those  adventures  of  The  Emperor's  Cigars,  and 
The  German  Girl's  Diamonds,  without  sensations 
of  shame,  and  pain.  Indeed!  they  were  engage 
ments  of  ignobility!  Following  the  latter  affair 
I  felt  a  strongest  impulse  to  change  somewhat  my 
occupation.  I  longed  for  an  employment  a  bit 
safer  and  less  foul.  I  counted  my  fortunes ;  I  was 
rich  with  over  seventy  thousand  dollars;  that 
might  do,  even  though  I  gained  no  more.  And 
so  it  fell  that  I  was  almost  ready  to  leave  the 


346 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

Customs,  and  forswear  and,  if  possible,  forget, 
those  sins  I  had  helped  commit  in  its  name. 

In  the  former  days,  my  home  tribe  was  not 
without  consequence  in  Old  Dominion  politics. 
And  while  we  could  not  be  said  to  have  strength 
ened  ourselves  by  that  part  we  took  against  the 
Union,  still,  now  that  peace  was  come,  the  family 
began  little  by  little  to  regather  a  former  weight. 
It  had  enough  at  this  time  to  interfere  for  my 
advantage  and  rescue  me  from  my  present  duty. 
I  was  detailed  from  Washington  to  go  secretly 
to  Europe,  make  the  careless  tour  of  her  capitols, 
and  keep  an  eye  alive  to  the  interests  of  both  the 
Treasury  and  the  State  Department. 

It  was  a  gentleman's  work;  this  loafing  from 
London  to  Paris,  and  from  Paris  to  Berlin,  with 
an  occasional  glance  into  Holland  and  its  diamond 
cutting.  And  aside  from  expenses — which  were 
paid  by  the  government — I  drew  two  salaries; 
one  from  the  Customs  and  a  second  from  the 
Secret  Service.  My  business  was  to  detect  in 
tended  smuggling  and  cable  the  story,  to  the  end 
that  Betelnut  Jack  and  Lorns  and  Quin  and  the 
others  make  intelligent  seizures  when  the  smug 
glers  came  into  New  York.  The  better  to  gain 
such  news,  I  put  myself  on  closest  terms — and 
still  keep  myself  a  secret — with  chief  folk  among 
houses  of  export ;  I  went  about  with  them,  drank 
with  them,  dined  with  them ;  and  I  wheedled  and 
lay  in  ambush  for  information  of  big  sales.  I  sent 

347 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

in  many  a  good  story;  and  many  a  rich  seizure 
came  off  through  my  interference.  Also  I  lived 
vastly  among  legation  underlings,  and  despatched 
what  I  found  to  the  Department  of  State.  There 
was  no  complaint  that  I  didn't  earn  my  money 
from  either  my  customs  or  my  secret  service  pay 
master.  In  truth !  I  stood  high  in  their  esteem. 

At  times,  too,  I  was  baffled.  There  was  a  lady, 
the  handsome  wife  of  a  diamond  dealer  in  Maiden 
Lane.  She  came  twice  a  year  to  Europe.  Ob 
viously  and  in  plain  view — like  the  vulgarian  she 
was  not — this  beautiful  woman,  as  she  went 
aboard  ship  in  New  York,  would  wear  at  throat 
and  ears  and  on  her  hands  full  two  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars'  worth  of  stones — apparently.  And 
there  they  seemed  to  be  when  she  returned;  and, 
of  course,  never  a  dime  of  duty.  We  were  mor 
ally  sure  this  beautiful  woman  was  a  beautiful 
smuggler;  we  were  morally  sure  those  stones 
were  paste  when  she  sailed  from  New  York;  we 
were  morally  sure  they  were  genuine,  of  purest 
water,  when  she  returned;  we  were  morally  sure 
the  shift  was  made  in  Paris,  and  that  a  harvest 
of  thousands  was  garnered  with  every  trip.  But 
what  might  we  do?  We  had  no  proof;  we  could 
get  none ;  we  could  only  guess. 

And  there  were  other  instances  when  we  slipped. 
More  than  once  I  tracked  a  would-be  smuggler 
to  his  ship  and  saw  him  out  of  port.  And  yet, 
when  acting  on  my  cables,  the  smuggler  coming 

348 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

down  the  New  York  gang-plank  was  snapped  up 
by  my  old  comrades  and  searched,  nothing  was 
found.  This  mystery,  for  mystery  it  was,  oc 
curred  a  score  of  times.  At  last  we  learned  the 
trick.  The  particular  room  occupied  by  the 
smuggler  was  taken  both  ways  for  a  round  dozen 
trips  ahead.  There  were  seven  members  of  the 
smuggling  combine.  When  one  left  the  room, 
his  voyage  ended,  and  came  ashore  in  New  York, 
another  went  duly  aboard  and  took  possession  for 
the  return  trip.  The  diamonds  had  not  gone 
ashore.  They  were  hidden  in  a  sure  place  some 
where  about  the  room;  he  who  took  it  to  go  to 
Europe  knew  where.  And  in  those  several  times 
to  follow  when  the  outgoer  was  on  and  off  the 
boat  before  she  cleared,  he  found  no  difficulty  in 
carrying  the  gems  ashore.  The  Customs  folk 
aren't  watching  departures;  their  vigilance  is  for 
those  who  arrive.  However,  after  a  full  score 
of  defeats,  we  solved  this  last  riddle,  and  man 
aged  a  seizure  which  lost  the  rogues  what  profits 
they  had  gathered  on  all  the  trips  before. 

Also,  as  I  pried  about  the  smuggling  industry, 
I  came  across  more  than  one  interesting  bit  of 
knowledge.  I  found  a  French  firm  making  ru 
bies — actual  rubies.  It  was  a  great  secret  in  my 
time,  though  more  is  known  of  it  now.  The  ruby 
was  real;  stood  every  test  save  the  one  test — a 
hard  one  to  enforce — of  specific  gravity.  The 
made  ruby  was  a  shadow  lighter,  bulk  for  bulk, 

349 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

than  the  true  ruby  of  the  mines.  This  made  ruby 
was  called  the  "scientific  ruby;"  and  indeed!  it 
was  scientific  to  such  a  degree  of  delusion  that  the 
best  experts  were  for  long  deceived  and  rubies 
which  cost  no  more  than  two  hundred  dollars  to 
make,  were  sold  for  ten  thousand  dollars. 

As  a  curious  discovery  of  my  ramblings,  I  stum 
bled  on  a  diamond,  the  one  only  of  its  brood. 
It  was  small,  no  more  than  three-quarters  of  a 
carat.  But  of  a  color  pure  orange  and — by  day 
or  by  night — blazing  like  a  spark  of  fire.  That 
stone  if  lost  could  be  found ;  it  is  the  one  lone 
member  of  its  orange  house.  What  was  its  fate? 
Set  in  the  open  mouth  of  a  little  lion's  head,  one 
may  now  find  it  on  the  finger  of  a  prince  of  the 
Bourse. 

It  was  while  in  Madrid,  during  my  European 
hunting,  that  those  seeds  were  sown  which  a  few 
months  later  grew  into  a  smart  willingness  to  let 
down  the  bars  for  my  filibusterer's  escape.  I  was 
by  stress  of  duty  held  a  month  in  Madrid.  And, 
first  to  last,  I  heard  nothing  from  the  natives 
when  they  spoke  of  America  but  malediction  and 
vilest  epithet.  It  kept  me  something  warm,  I 
promise,  for  all  I  had  once  ridden  saber  in  hand  to 
smite  that  same  American  government  hip  and 
thigh.  I  left  Madrid  when  my  work  was  done 
with  never  a  moment's  delay;  and  I  carried  away 
a  profound  hate  for  Spain  and  all  things  Spanish. 

As  I  was  brought  home  by  commands  from 
350 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

my  superiors  at  the  end  of  my  Madrid  work, 
these  anti-Spanish  sentiments  had  by  no  means 
cooled  when  I  made  the  New  York  wharf.  De 
cidedly  if  I'd  been  searched  for  a  sentiment,  I 
would  have  been  discovered  hostile  to  Spanish 
interest  when,  within  three  weeks  following-  my 
home-coming',  I  was  given  the  Harriet  Lane, 
shown  the  suspect  and  his  ship,  and  told  to  have 
a  sleepless  eye  and  seize  him  if  he  moved. 

It's  the  Norse  instinct  to  hate  Spain;  and  I 
was  blood  and  lineage,  decisively  Norse.  That 
affair  of  instinct  is  a  mighty  matter.  It  is  curious 
to  note  how  one's  partisanship  will  back-track 
one's  racial  trail  and  pick  up  old  race  feuds  and 
friendships ;  hating  where  one's  forbears  hated, 
loving  where  they  loved.  Even  as  a  child,  being 
then  a  devourer  of  history,  I  well  recall  how — 
while  loathing  England  as  the  foe  of  this  country 
• — I  still  went  with  her  in  sympathy  was  she 
warring  with  France  or  Spain.  I  remember,  too, 
that,  in  England's  civil  wars,  I  was  ever  for  the 
Roundhead  and  against  the  King.  This,  you  say, 
sounds  strangely  for  my  theory,  coming  as  I  do 
from  Virginia,  that  state  of  the  Cavalier.  One 
should  reflect  that  Cavalierism — to  invent  a  word 
— is  naught  save  a  Southern  boast.  Virginia, 
like  most  seaboard  Southern  states,  was  in  its 
time  a  sort  of  Botany  Bay  whereunto,  with  other 
delinquents,  political  prisoners  were  condemned; 
my  own  ancestors  coming,  in  good  truth !  by  edict 

351 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

of  the  Bloody  Jeffreys  for  the  hand  they  took  in 
Monmouth's  rebellion.  It  is  true  as  I  state,  even 
as  a  child,  too  young  for  emotions  save  emotions 
of  instinct,  I  was  ever  the  friend,  as  I  read  history, 
first  of  my  own  country;  and  next  of  England, 
Germany,  Holland,  Denmark  and  Sweden-Nor 
way — old  race-camps  of  my  forefathers,  these — 
and  like  those  same  forefathers  the  uncompromis 
ing  foe  of  France,  Spain,  Italy,  and  the  entire 
Latin  tribe,  as  soon  as  ever  my  reading  taught 
me  their  existence. 

My  filibusterer  swung  on  his  cable  down  the 
bay  from  Governor's  Island.  During  daylight  I 
held  the  Harriet  Lane  at  decent  distance ;  when 
night  came  down  I  lay  as  closely  by  him  as  I 
might  and  give  the  ships  room  as  they  swept  bow 
for  stern  with  the  tide.  Also,  we  had  a  small- 
boat  patrol  in  the  water. 

It  wras  the  fourth  day  of  my  watch.  I  was 
ashore  to  stretch  my  legs,  and  at  that  particular 
moment,  grown  weary  of  walking,  on  a  bench  in 
Battery  Park,  from  which  coign  I  had  both  my 
filibusterer  and  the  Harriet  Lane  beneath  my  eye, 
and  could  signal  the  latter  whenever  I  would. 

On  the  bench  with  me  sat  a  well-dressed 
stranger;  I  had  before  observed  him  during  my 
walk.  With  an  ease  that  bespoke  the  trained 
gentleman,  and  in  manner  unobtrusive,  my  fellow 
bencher  stole  into  talk  with  me.  Sharpened  of 
my  trade,  he  had  not  discoursed  a  moment  before 

352 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

I  felt  and  knew  his  purpose;  he  was  friend  to  my 
filibusterer  whose  black  freeboard  showed  broad 
side  on  as  she  tugged  and  strove  with  her  cable 
not  a  mile  away. 

He  carried  the  talk  to  her  at  last. 

"  I  don't  beiieve  she's  a  filibusterer,"  he  said. 
Her  character  was  common  gossip,  and  he  had 
referred  to  that.  "  I  don't  believe  she's  a  filibus 
terer.  I'd  be  glad  to  see  her  get  out  if  I  thought 
she  were,"  and  he  turned  on  me  a  tentative  eye. 

Doubtless  he  observed  a  smile,  and  therein  read 
encouragement.  I  told  him  my  present  business ; 
not  through  vain  jauntiness  of  pride,  but  I  was 
aware  that  he  well  knew  my  mission  before  ever 
he  sat  down,  and  I  thought  I'd  fog  him  up  a  bit 
with  airs  of  innocence,  and  lead  him  to  suppose 
I  suspected  him  not. 

After  much  tacking  and  going  about,  first  port 
and  then  starboard — to  use  the  nautical  phrase — 
he  came  straight  at  me. 

"  Friend,"  he  said ;  "  the  cause  of  liberty — Cu 
ban  liberty,  if  you  will — is  dear  to  me.  If  that 
ship  be  a  filibusterer  and  meant  for  Cuba's  aid, 
speaking  as  a  humanitarian,  I  could  give  you  ten 
thousand  reasons,  the  best  in  the  world,  why  you 
should  let  her  sail."  This  last,  wistfully. 

Thereupon  I  lighted  a  cigar,  having  trouble  by 

reason  of  the  breeze.     Then  getting  up,  I  took 

my   handkerchief   and    wig-wagged    the    Harriet 

Lane  to  send  the  gig  ashore.     As  I  prepared  to 

23  353 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

go  down  to  the  water-front,  I  turned  to  my  hu 
manitarian  who  so  loved  liberty. 

"  Give  your  reasons  to  Betelnut  Jack,"  I  said; 
"  he  delights  in  abstract  deductions  touching  the 
rights  of  man  as  against  the  rights  of  states  as 
deeply  as  did  that  Thetford  Corset  maker,  Thomas 
Paine." 

"  Betelnut  Jack ! "  said  my  humanitarian. 
"  He  shall  have  every  reason  within  an  hour." 

"  Should  you  convince  him,"  I  retorted,  "  tell 
him  as  marking  a  fact  in  which  I  shall  take  the 
utmost  interest  to  come  to  this  spot  at  five  o'clock 
and  show  me  his  handkerchief." 

Then  I  joined  the  Harriet  Lane. 

At  the  hour  suggested,  Betelnut  Jack  stood  on 
the  water's  edge  and  flew  the  signal.  I  put  the 
captain's  glass  on  him  to  make  sure.  He  had 
been  given  the  reasons,  and  was  convinced. 
There  abode  no  doubt  of  it ;  the  humanitarian  was 
right  and  Cuba  should  be  free.  Besides,  I  re 
membered  Madrid  and  hated  Spain. 

"  Captain,"  I  observed,  as  I  handed  that  dig 
nitary  the  glasses,  "  we  will,  if  you  please,  lie  in 
the  Narrows  to-night.  If  this  fellow  leave — 
which  he  won't — he'll  leave  that  way.  And  we'll 
pinch  him." 

The  Captain  bowed.  We  dropped  down  to  the 
Narrows  as  the  night  fell  black  as  pitch.  The 
Captain  and  I  cracked  a  bottle.  As  we  toasted 
each  other,  our  suspect  crept  out  through  the 

354 


HOW  THE  FILIBUSTERER  SAILED. 

Sound,  and  by  sunrise  had  long  cleared  Montauk 
and  far  and  away  was  southward  bound  and  safe 
on  the  open  ocean. 


"  I  believe,"  observed  the  Jolly  Doctor  to  the 
Sour  Gentleman  when  the  latter  paused,  "  I  be 
lieve  you  said  that  the  Filibusterer  was  in  the  end 
taken  and  shot." 

"  Seized  when  he  made  his  landing,"  returned 
the  Sour  Gentleman,  "  and  killed  against  a  wall 
in  the  morning." 

"  It  was  a  cheap  finish  for  a  io,ooo-dollar  start," 
remarked  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  senten- 
tiously.  "  But  why  should  this  adventurer,  Ryan, 
as  you  call  him,  go  into  the  business  of  freeing 
Cuba?  Where  would  lie  his  profit?  I  don't 
suppose  now  it  was  a  love  of  liberty  which  put 
him  in  motion." 

'  The  Cuban  rebellionists,"  said  the  Sour  Gen 
tleman,  "  were  from  first  to  last  sustained  by 
certain  business  firms  in  New  York  who  had 
arranged  to  make  money  by  their  success.  It  is 
a  kind  of  piracy  quite  common,  this  setting  our 
Spanish-Americans  to  cutting  throats  that  a 
profit  may  flow  in  Wall  and  Broad  streets. 
Every  revolution  and  almost  every  war  in  South 
and  Central  America  have  their  inspirations  in  the 
counting-rooms  of  some  great  New  York  firm. 

355 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

I've  known  rival  houses  in  New  York  to  set 
a  pair  of  South  American  republics  to  battling 
with  each  other  like  a  brace  of  game  cocks. 
Thousands  were  slain  with  that  war.  Sure,  it  is 
the  merest  blackest  piracy;  the  deeds  of  Kidd 
or  Morgan  were  milk-white  by  comparison." 

"  It  shows  also,"  observed  the  Jolly  Doctor, 
"  how  little  the  race  has  changed.  In  our  hearts 
we  are  the  same  vikings  of  savage  blood  and 
pillage,  and  with  no  more  of  ruth,  we  were  in 
the  day  of  Harold  Fairhair." 

Sioux  Sam,  at  the  Old  Cattleman's  suggestion, 
came  now  to  relate  the  story  of  "  How  Moh-Kwa 
Saved  the  Strike  Axe." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

This  shall  be  the  story  of  how  Moh-Kwa,  the 
Wise  Bear,  saved  Strike  Axe  from  the  medicine 
of  Yellow  Face,  the  bad  medicine  man,  who  would 
take  his  life  an'  steal  the  Feather,  his  squaw. 
An'  it  is  a  story  good  to  show  that  you  should 
never  lose  a  chance  to  do  a  kind  deed,  since  kind 
deeds  are  the  steeps  up  which  the  Great  Spirit 
makes  you  climb  to  reach  the  happiness  at  the 
top.  When  you  do  good,  you  climb  up ;  when 
you  do  bad,  you  climb  down;  an'  at  the  top  is 
happiness  which  is  white,  an'  at  the  bottom  is  pain 
which  is  black,  an'  the  Great  Spirit  says  every 
man  shall  take  his  choice. 

Strike  Axe  is  of  the  war-clan  an'  is  young. 
Also  he  is  a  big  fighter  next  to  Ugly  Elk  who  is 
the  war  chief.  An'  Strike  Axe  for  all  he  is  only  a 
young  man  an'  has  been  but  four  times  on  the  war 
trail,  has  already  taken  five  skelps — one  Crow, 
one  Blackfoot,  three  Pawnees.  This  makes  big 
talk  among  all  the  Sioux  along  the  Yellowstone, 
an'  Strike  Axe  is  proud  an'  gay,  for  he  is  held  a 

357 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

great  warrior  next  to  Ugly  Elk;  an'  it  is  the 
Pawnees  an'  Crows  an'  Blackfeet  who  say  this, 
which  makes  it  better  than  if  it  is  only  the  talk 
of  the  Sioux. 

When  Ugly  Elk  sets  up  the  war-pole,  an'  calls 
to  his  young  men  to  make  ready  to  go  against 
the  Pawnees  to  take  skelps  an'  steal  ponies,  Strike 
Axe  is  the  first  to  beat  the  war-pole  with  his  stone 
club,  an'  his  war  pony  is  the  first  that  is  saddled 
for  the  start. 

Strike  Axe  has  a  squaw  an'  the  name  of  the 
squaw  is  the  Feather.  Of  the  girls  of  the  Sioux, 
the  Feather  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful.  Yet 
she  is  restless  an'  wicked,  an'  thinks  plots  an'  is 
hungry  «an'  thirsty  to  do  evil.  But  that  is  not  the 
Feather's  fault. 

Yellow  Face,  the  bad  medicine  man,  has  made 
a  spell  over  the  Feather.  Yellow  Face  hates 
Strike  Axe  because  of  so  much  big  talk  about 
him.  Also,  he  loves  the  Feather  an'  would  have 
her  for  his  squaw.  He  tells  her  she  is  like  the 
sunset,  but  she  will  not  hear;  then  he  says  she 
is  like  the  sunrise,  but  still  she  shakes  her  head, 
only  she  shakes  it  slow;  so  at  last  Yellow  Face 
tells  her  she  is  like  the  Wild  Rose,  an'  at  that  she 
laughs  an'  listens. 

But  the  Feather  will  not  leave  Strike  Axe  an' 
go  with  Yellow  Face,  for  Strike  Axe  is  a  big 
fighter;  an'  moreover,  he  kills  many  elk  an'  buf 
falo,  an'  his  lodge  is  full  of  beef  an'  robes,  an'  the 

358 


THE  STRIKE-AXE. 


HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

Feather  is  no  fool.  Besides,  at  this  time  her 
heart  is  not  bad,  but  only  restless. 

Then  Yellow  Face  sees  he  must  give  her  a 
bad  heart  or  he  will  never  win  the  Feather.  So 
Yellow  Face  kills  the  Great  Rattlesnake  of  the 
Rocks,  who  is  his  brother  medicine,  an'  cooks  an' 
feeds  his  heart  to  the  Feather.  Then  she  loves 
Yellow  Face  an'  hates  Strike  Axe,  an'  would  help 
the  Yellow  Face  slay  him.  For  the  heart  of  the 
Great  Rattlesnake  of  the  Rocks  is  evil,  an'  evil 
breeds  evil  where  it  touches,  an'  so  the  Feather's 
heart  turns  black  like  the  snake's  heart  which 
she  swallowed  from  the  hand  of  Yellow  Face. 

Strike  Axe  does  not  know  what  the  Feather 
an'  Yellow  Face  say  an'  do,  for  he  is  busy  sharp 
ening  his  lance  an'  making  arrows  to  shoot 
against  the  Pawnees,  an'  his  ears  an'  eyes  have 
no  time  to  run  new  trails.  But  Strike  Axe  can 
tell  that  the  Feather's  heart  is  against  him;  an' 
this  makes  him  to  wonder,  because  he  is  a  big 
fighter;  an'  besides  he  has  more  than  any  Sioux, 
meat  an'  furs  an'  beads  an'  blankets  an'  paint  an' 
feathers,  all  of  which  are  good  to  the  eyes  of 
squaws,  an'  the  Feather  is  no  fool.  An',  remem 
bering  these  things,  Strike  Axe  wonders  an' 
wonders;  but  he  cannot  tell  why  the  heart  of  the 
Feather  is  against  him.  An'  at  last  Strike  Axe 
puts  away  the  puzzle  of  the  Feather's  heart. 

"  It  is  a  trail  in  running  water,"  says  Strike 
Axe,  "  an'  no  one  may  follow  it.  The  heart  of  a 

359 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

squaw  is  a  bird  an'  flies  in  the  air  an'  no  one  may 
trace  it."  With  that,  Strike  Axe  washes  his 
memory  free  of  the  puzzle  of  the  Feather's  heart 
an'  goes  away  to  the  big  trees  by  the  Yellowstone 
to  hunt. 

Strike  Axe  tells  the  Feather  he  will  be  gone 
one  moon ;  for  now  while  her  heart  is  against  him 
his  lodge  is  cold  an'  his  blankets  hard  an'  the  fire 
no  longer  burns  for  Strike  Axe,  an'  his  own  heart 
is  tired  to  be  alone. 

It  is  among  the  big  trees  by  the  Yellowstone 
that  Strike  Axe  meets  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear, 
while  Moh-Kwa  is  hunting  for  a  bee  tree.  But 
he  can't  find  one,  an'  he  is  sad  an'  hungry  an'  tells 
Strike  Axe  he  fears  the  bees  have  gone  far  away 
to  live  with  the  Pawnees. 

But  Strike  Axe  says  "  No !  "  an'  takes  Moh- 
Kwa  to  a  bee-tree  he  has  found ;  an'  Moh-Kwa 
sings  in  his  joy,  an'  climbs  an'  eats  until  he  is  in 
pain ;  while  Strike  Axe  stands  a  long  way  off,  for 
the  bees  are  angry  an'  their  knives  are  out. 

Moh-Kwa  is  grateful  to  Strike  Axe  when  his 
pain  from  much  honey  is  gone,  an'  says  he  will 
come  each  day,  an'  eat  an'  fight  with  the  bees 
while  there  is  honey  left.  An'  Moh-Kwa  asks 
Strike  Axe  to  remember  that  he  is  the  Great  Wise 
Bear  of  the  Yellowstone,  an'  to  tell  him  what  is 
evil  with  him  so  Moh-Kwa  can  do  him  good. 

Strike  Axe  thinks  very  hard ;  then  he  tells  Moh- 
Kwa  how  the  Feather's  heart  is  against  him  an' 

360 


HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

has  left  him;  he  would  know  what  the  Feather 
will  do  an'  where  her  heart  has  gone. 

Moh-Kwa  puts  his  paw  above  his  eyes  to  keep 
out  the  sun  so  he  can  think  better;  an'  soon  Moh- 
Kwa  remembers  that  the  wife  of  the  Great  Rattle 
snake  of  the  Rocks,  when  he  met  her  hunting  rats 
among  the  cliffs,  told  him  she  was  now  a  widow, 
for  Yellow  Face  had  killed  the  Great  Rattlesnake 
of  the  Rocks — who  was  his  brother  medicine — 
an'  fed  his  heart  to  the  Feather. 

Moh-Kwa  tells  Strike  Axe  how  the  Feather 
was  bewitched  by  Yellow  Face. 

"  Come  now  with  me,"  said  Moh-Kwa  to 
Strike  Axe,  "  an'  I  will  show  you  what  the 
Feather  an'  Yellow  Face  do  while  you  are  gone. 
You  are  a  young  buck  an'  a  good  buck,  an'  be 
cause  of  your  youth  an'  the  kind  deed  you  did 
when  you  found  for  me  the  bees — to  whom  I  shall 
go  back  an'  fight  with  for  more  honey  to-morrow 
and  every  day  while  it  lasts — I  will  show  you  a 
danger  like  a  lance,  an'  how  to  hold  your  shield  so 
you  may  come  safe  from  it." 

Moh-Kwa  took  Strike  Axe  by  the  hand  an'  led 
him  up  a  deep  canyon  an'  into  his  cavern  where  a 
big  fire  burned  in  the  floor's  middle  for  light. 
An'  bats  flew  about  the  roof  of  Moh-Kwa's  cavern 
an'  owls  sat  on  points  of  rock  high  up  on  the 
sides  an'  made  sad  talks;  but  Strike  Axe  being 
brave  an'  with  a  good  heart,  was  not  afraid  an' 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

went  close  to  the  fire  in  the  floor's  middle  an'  sat 
down. 

Moh-Kwa  got  him  a  fish  to  eat ;  an'  when  it 
was  baked  on  the  coals  an'  eaten,  brought  him  a 
pipe  with  kinnikinick  to  smoke.  When  that  was 
done,  Moh-Kwa  said: 

"  Now  that  your  stomach  is  full  an'  strong  to 
stand  grief,  I  will  show  you  what  the  Feather  an' 
Yellow  Face  do  while  you  are  gone;  for  they 
make  medicine  against  you  an'  reach  out  to  kill 
you  an'  take  your  life."  Moh-Kwa  then  turned 
over  a  great  stone  with  his  black  paws  an'  took 
out  of  a  hole  which  was  under  the  stone,  a  looking 
glass.  Moh-Kwa  gave  Strike  Axe  the  looking 
glass  an'  said,  "  Look ;  for  there  you  shall  see  the 
story  of  what  the  Feather  an'  the  wicked  Yellow 
Face  do." 

Strike  Axe  looked,  an'  saw  that  Yellow  Face 
was  wrapping  up  a  log  in  a  blanket.  When  he 
had  done  this,  he  belted  it  with  the  belts  of  Strike 
Axe;  an'  then  he  put  on  its  head  the  war-bonnet 
of  Strike  Axe  which  hung  on  the  lodge  pole.  An' 
now  that  it  was  finished,  Yellow  Face  said  the  log 
in  the  blanket  an'  wearing  the  belts  an'  war- 
bonnet  was  Strike  Axe — as  Strike  Axe  saw  truly 
in  the  looking  glass — an'  Yellow  Face  stood  up 
the  log  in  its  blanket  an'  belts  an'  war-bonnet,  an* 
made  his  bow  ready  to  kill  it  with  an  arrow.  As 
Yellow  Face  did  these  things,  the  Feather  stood 
watching  him  with  a  smile  on  her  face  while  the 

362 


HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

blood-hope  shone  in  her  eyes;  for  she  had  eaten 
the  snake's  heart  an'  all  her  spirit  was  black. 

Strike  Axe  saw  what  went  on  with  the  Feather 
an'  Yellow  Face,  an'  told  it  as  the  glass  told  it, 
word  for  word  to  Moh-Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear,  who 
sat  by  his  side  to  listen. 

Then  Moh-Kwa,  when  he  knew  that  now  Yel 
low  Face  with  three  arrows  in  his  left  hand  was 
stringing  a  bow  to  shoot  against  the  log  which 
he  had  dressed  up  an'  named  "  Strike  Axe,"  said 
there  was  little  time  to  be  lost;  an'  Moh-Kwa 
hurried  Strike  Axe  to  the  round  deep  spring  of 
clear  water  which  was  in  the  cavern,  an'  told  him 
to  stand  on  the  edge  of  the  spring  an'  look  hard 
in  the  looking  glass  an'  take  sharp  notice  just  as 
Yellow  Face  was  to  shoot  the  arrow  against  the 
log. 

"  An'  you  must  dive  in  the  spring  when  Yellow 
Face  shoots,"  said  Moh-Kwa  to  Strike  Axe; 
"  you  must  dive  like  the  loon  dives  when  you  shoot 
at  him  on  the  river." 

Strike  Axe  looked  hard  in  the  looking  glass  like 
Moh-Kwa  said,  an'  dived  in  the  spring  when  the 
arrow  left  the  bow  of  Yellow  Face. 

When  he  came  up,  he  looked  again  in  the  glass 
an'  saw  that  Yellow  Face  had  missed  the  log. 
Yellow  Face  had  a  half-fear  because  he  had 
missed,  an'  Strike  Axe  looking  in  Moh-Kwa's 
glass  could  see  the  half-fear  rising  up  as  a  mist 
in  his  eyes  like  a  morning  fog  lifts  up  from  the 

363 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Yellowstone.  Also,  the  Feather  stood  watching 
Yellow  Face,  an'  her  eyes,  which  were  grown 
hard  an'  little  an'  bright,  like  a  snake's  eyes, 
showed  that  she  did  not  care  what  happened  only 
so  that  it  was  evil. 

But  Moh-Kwa  told  Strike  Axe  to  still  watch 
closely,  an'  would  not  let  his  mind  pull  up  its 
pickets  an'  stray;  because  Yellow  Face  would 
shoot  twice  more  with  the  arrows  which  were  left; 
an'  he  must  be  quick  an'  ready  each  time  to  dive 
like  the  loon  dives,  or  he  would  surely  die  by 
the  log's  wound. 

Strike  Axe,  because  he  had  eaten  the  fish  an' 
smoked,  an'  had  a  full  stomach  an'  was  bold  an' 
steady  with  a  heart  made  brave  with  much  food, 
again  looked  hard  in  the  glass;  an'  when  the 
second  arrow  left  the  bow  of  Yellow  Face  he 
dived  sharply  in  the  spring  like  a  loon ;  an'  when 
he  came  up  an'  held  the  looking  glass  before  his 
eyes  he  saw  that  Yellow  Face  had  missed  the  log 
a  second  time. 

An'  now  there  was  a  whole-fear  in  the  eyes  of 
Yellow  Face — a  white  fear  that  comes  when  a 
man  sees  Pau-guk,  the  Death,  walk  into  the 
lodge;  an'  the  hand  of  Yellow  Face  trembled  as 
he  made  ready  his  last  third  arrow  on  the  bow. 
But  in  the  eyes  of  the  Feather  shone  no  fear ;  only 
she  lapped  out  her  tongue  like  the  snake  does, 
with  the  black  pleasure  of  new  evil  at  the  door. 

Moh-Kwa  warned  Strike  Axe  to  look  only  at 
364 


HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

Yellow  Face  that  he  might  be  sure  an'  swift  as 
the  loon  to  dive  from  the  last  arrow.  Strike  Axe 
did  as  Moh-Kwa  counselled;  an'  when  the  last 
arrow  flew  from  the  bow,  Strike  Axe  with  a  big 
splash  was  safe  an'  deep  beneath  the  waters  of 
the  spring. 

"  An'  now,"  said  Moh-Kwa  to  Strike  Axe, 
"  look  in  the  glass  an'  laugh,  for  a  blessing  of 
revenge  has  been  bestowed  on  you  through  the 
Great  Spirit." 

Strike  Axe  looked  an'  saw  that  not  only  did 
Yellow  Face  miss  the  log,  but  the  arrow  flew  back 
an'  pierced  the  throat  of  Yellow  Face,  even  up  to 
the  three  eagle  feathers  on  the  arrow's  shaft.  As 
Strike  Axe  looked,  he  saw  Yellow  Face  die ;  an' 
a  feeling  like  the  smell  of  new  grass  came  about 
the  heart  of  Strike  Axe,  for  there  is  nothing  so 
warm  an'  sweet  an'  quick  with  peace  as  revenge 
when  it  sees  an'  smells  the  fresh  blood  of  its 
enemy. 

Moh-Kwa  told  Strike  Axe  to  still  look  in  the 
glass;  for  while  the  danger  was  gone  he  would 
know  what  the  Feather  did  when  now  that  Yellow 
Face  was  killed  by  the  turning  of  his  own  medicine. 

Strike  Axe  looked,  an'  saw  how  the  Feather 
dammed  up  the  water  in  a  little  brook  near  the 
lodge ;  an'  when  the  bed  of  the  brook  was  free 
of  water  the  Feather  dug  a  hole  in  the  soft  ground 
with  her  hands  like  a  wolf  digs  with  his  paws. 
An'  the  Feather  made  it  deep  an'  long  an'  wide; 

365 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

an'  then  she  put  the  dead  Yellow  Face  in  this 
grave  in  the  brook's  bed.  When  she  had  covered 
him  with  sand  an'  stones,  the  Feather  let  the 
waters  free;  an'  the  brook  went  back  to  its  old 
trail  which  it  loved,  an'  laughed  an'  ran  on,  never 
caring  about  the  dead  Yellow  Face  who  lay  under 
its  wet  feet. 

Then  the  Feather  went  again  into  the  lodge  an' 
undressed  the  log  of  its  blankets,  belts  an'  war- 
bonnet;  an'  the  Feather  burned  the  bow  an'  the 
arrows  of  Yellow  Face,  an'  made  everything  as 
it  was  before.  Only  now  Yellow  Face  lay  dead 
under  the  brook;  but  no  one  knew,  an'  the  brook 
itself  already  had  forgot — for  the  brook's  memory 
is  slippery  an'  thin  an'  not  a  good  memory,  hold 
ing  nothing  beyond  a  moment — an'  the  Feather 
felt  safe  an'  happy;  for  her  heart  fed  on  evil  an' 
evil  had  been  done. 

Strike  Axe  came  out  from  the  cave  with  Moh- 
Kwa,  the  Wise  Bear. 

'  You  have  given  me  life,"  said  Strike  Axe. 
'  You  have  given  me  honey,"  said  Moh-Kwa. 

Then  Strike  Axe  was  troubled  in  his  mind,  an' 
he  told  Moh-Kwa  that  he  knew  not  what  he  must 
do  with  the  Feather  when  he  returned.  But  Moh- 
Kwa  said  that  he  should  make  his  breast  light, 
an'  free  his  thought  of  the  Feather  as  a  burden, 
for  one  would  be  in  his  lodge  before  him  with 
the  answer  to  his  question. 

"  It  is  the  Widow,"  said  Moh-Kwa,  "  who  was 
366 


HOW  MOH-KWA  SAVED  STRIKE-AXE. 

the  wife  of  the  Great  Rattlesnake  of  the  Rocks; 
she  will  go  to  your  tepee  to  be  close  to  the  heart 
of  her  husband.  In  her  mouth  the  Widow  will 
bring  a  message  from  Yellow  Face  to  the  Feather 
for  whom  he  died  an'  was  hid  beneath  the  careless 
brook." 

Thus  said  Moh-Kwa.  An'  Strike  Axe  found 
that  Moh-Kwa  spoke  with  but  one  tongue;  for 
when  he  stood  again  in  his  lodge  the  Feather  lay 
across  the  door,  dead  an'  black  with  the  message 
of  Yellow  Face  which  was  sent  to  her  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Widow.  An'  as  Strike  Axe  looked 
on  the  Feather,  the  Widow  rattled  joyfully  where 
she  lay  coiled  on  the  Feather's  breast ;  for  the 
Widow  was  glad  because  she  was  near  to  her 
husband's  heart. 

But  Moh-Kwa  was  not  there  to  look ;  Moh-Kwa 
had  gone  early  to  the  bee-tree,  an'  now  with  his 
nose  in  a  honey  comb  was  high  an'  hearty  up 
among  the  angry  bees. 


There  arose  no  little  approbative  comment  on 
the  folk-lore  tales  of  Sioux  Sam,  and  it  was 
common  opinion  that  his  were  by  odds  and  away 
the  best  stories  to  be  told  among  us.  These 
hearty  plaudits  were  not  without  pleasant  effect 
on  Sioux  Sam,  and  one  might  see  his  dark  cheek 
flush  to  a  color  darker  still  with  the  joy  he  felt. 

367 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

And  yet  someone  has  said  how  the  American 
Indian  is  stolid  and  cold. 

It  was  the  Red  Nosed  Gentleman,  as  the  clock 
struck  midnight  on  this  our  last  evening  and  we 
threw  our  last  log  on  the  coals,  who  suggested 
that  the  Jolly  Doctor,  having  told  the  first  story, 
should  in  all  propriety  close  in  the  procession  by 
furnishing  the  last.  There  was  but  one  voice  for 
it,  and  the  Jolly  Doctor,  who  would  have  demurred 
for  that  it  seemed  to  lack  of  modesty  on  his  side, 
in  the  end  conceded  the  point  with  grace. 

"  This,"  said  the  Jolly  Doctor,  composing  him 
self  to  a  comfortable  position  in  his  great  chair, 
"  this,  then,  shall  be  the  story  of  '  The  Flim  Flam 
Murphy/  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

Chicken  Bill  was  not  beautiful  with  his  shock 
of  coarse  hair  and  foul  pipe  in  mouth.  Doubtless, 
Chicken  Bill  was  likewise  an  uncompromising 
villain.  Indeed,  Pike's  Peak  Martin,  expert  both 
of  men  and  mines,  one  evening  in  the  Four  Flush 
saloon,  casually,  but  with  insulting  fullness,  set  these 
things  forth  to  Chicken  Bill  himself;  and  while 
Pike's  Peak  Martin  was  always  talking,  he  was  not 
always  wrong. 

On  this  occasion  of  Pike's  Peak  Martin's  frank 
ness,  Chicken  Bill,  albeit  he  carried  contradiction  at 
his  belt  in  the  shape  of  a  six-shooter,  walked  away 
without  attempting  either  denial  or  reproof.  This 
conduct,  painful  to  the  sentiment  of  Timberline,  had 
the  two-fold  effect  of  confirming  Pike's  Peak  Mar 
tin's  utterances  in  the  minds  of  men,  and  telling 
against  the  repute  of  Chicken  Bill  for  that  personal 
courage  which  is  the  great  first  virtue  the  South 
west  demands. 

Old  Man  Granger  found  the  earliest  gold  in  Ari 
zona  Gulch.  And  hot  on  the  news  of  the  strike 
a*  369 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

came  Chicken  Bill.  It  was  the  latter's  boast  about 
the  bar-rooms  of  Timberline  that  he  was  second 
to  come  into  the  canyon;  and  as  this  was  the  only 
word  of  truth  of  wThich  Chicken  Bill  was  guilty 
while  he  honored  the  camp  with  his  presence,  it  de 
serves  a  record. 

Following  Old  Man  Granger's  discovery  of  his 
Old  Age  mine,  came  not  only  Chicken  Bill,  but 
others ;  within  a  week  there  arose  the  bubbling  camp 
of  Timberline.  There  were  saloons  and  hurdy- 
gurdies  and  stores  and  restaurants  and  a  bank  and 
a  corral  and  a  stage  station  and  an  express  office  and 
a  post-office  and  an  assay  office  and  board  side 
walks  and  red  lights  and  many  another  plain  evi 
dence  of  civilization.  Even  a  theatre  was  threatened ; 
and,  to  add  to  the  gayety  as  well  as  the  wealth 
of  the  baby  metropolis,  those  sundry  cattlemen  hav 
ing  ranges  and  habitats  within  the  oak-brushed  hills 
about,  began  to  make  Timberline  their  headquarters 
and  transact  their  business  and  their  debauches  in 
its  throbbing  midst. 

Chicken  Bill  was  reasonably  perfect  in  all  accom 
plishments  of  the  Southwest.  He  could  work  cat 
tle;  he  could  rope,  throw,  and  hog-tie  his  steer;  he 
could  keep  up  his  end  at  flanking,  branding,  and 
ear-marking  in  a  June  corral;  he  could  saddle  and 
ride  a  \vild,  unbroken  bronco;  he  could  make  bak 
ing-powder  biscuit  so  well  flavored  and  light  as  to 
compel  the  compliments  of  those  jealous  epicures 
of  the  cow-camps  who  devoured  them. 

370 


CHICKEN  BILL. 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

Yet  Chicken  Bill  would  not  work  on  the  ranges. 
There  were  no  cards  permitted  in  the  camps,  and 
whiskey  was  debarred  as  if  each  bottle  held  a  rattle 
snake.  Altogether  a  jovial  soul,  and  one  given  to 
revelry,  would  fly  from  them  in  disgust. 

"  It's  too  lonesome  a  play  for  me,  this  punchin' 
cattle/'  observed  Chicken  Bill,  and  so  eschewed  it. 

While  Pike's  Peak  Martin  expounded  this  aver 
sion  on  the  part  of  Chicken  Bill,  as  well  as  the  lat- 
ter's  refusal  to  pick  and  dig  and  drill  and  blast  in  the 
Timberline  mines,  as  mere  laziness,  public  feeling, 
though  it  despised  the  culprit,  was  inclined  to  toler 
ate  him  in  his  shiftlessness.  American  independence 
in  the  Southwest  is  held  to  be  inclusive  of  the  per 
sonal  right  to  refuse  all  forms  of  labor.  Wherefore 
Chicken  Bill  was  safe  even  from  criticism  as  he 
hung  about  the  saloons  and  faro  rooms  and  lived  his 
life  of  chosen  vagabondage. 

Our  low-flung  hero  made  shift  in  various  ways. 
Did  he  find  a  tenderfoot  whom  he  could  cheat  at 
cards,  he  borrowed  a  stake — sometimes,  when  the 
subject  was  uncommonly  tender,  from  the  victim 
himself — and  therewith  took  a  small  sum  at  poker 
or  seven-tip.  Another  method  of 'trivial  fraud,  now 
and  then  successful  with  Chicken  Bill,  was  to  plant 
a  handful  of  brass  nuggets,  each  of  about  an  ounce 
in  weight,  under  a  little  waterfall  that  broke  into 
the  canyon  just  below  the  windmill.  There  was  a 
deal  of  mineral  in  this  feeble  side-stream,  and  the 
brass  nuggets  became  coated  and  queer  of  color. 

371 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

One  of  these  Chicken  Bill  was  able  at  intervals  to 
impose  at  a  profit  upon  a  stranger,  by  swearing 
doughtily  that  it  was  virgin  gold. 

It  came  to  pass,  however,  that  Chicken  Bill,  de 
spairing  of  fortune  by  the  cheap  processes  of  penny- 
ante  and  spurious  nuggets,  decided  on  a  coup.  He 
would  stake  out  a  claim,  drift  it  and  timber  it,  and 
then  salt  it  to  the  limit  of  all  that  was  possible  in 
the  science  of  claim-salting.  Then  would  he  sell 
it  to  the  first  Christian  with  more  money  than 
sagacity  who  came  moved  to  buy  a  mine. 

Chicken  Bill  was  no  amateur  of  mines.  He  knew 
the  business  as  he  knew  the  cow  trade,  and  avoided 
it  for  the  same  reason  of  indolence.  In  his  time, 
and  after  some  windfall  at  faro-bank,  Chicken  Bill 
had  grub-staked  prospectors  who  were  to  "  give  him 
half "  and  who  never  came  back.  In  his  turn 
Chicken  Bill  was  grub-staked  by  others,  in  which 
event  he  never  came  back.  But  it  went  with  other 
experiences  to  teach  him  the  trade,  and  on  the  morn 
ing  when  with  pick  and  paraphernalia  Chicken  Bill 
pitched  camp  in  Arizona  Gulch  a  mile  beyond  the 
farthest,  and  where  it  was  known  to  all  no  mineral 
lurked,  he  brought  with  him  a  knowledge  of  the 
miner's  art,  and  began  his  digging  with  intelligent 
spirit.  Moreover,  the  heart  of  Chicken  Bill  was 
stout  for  the  work ;  for  was  he  not  planning  a  swin 
dle?  and  did  not  that  thought  of  itself  swell  his 
bosom  with  a  mighty  peace? 

Once  upon  a  time  Chicken  Bill  had  had  a  partner. 
3/2 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

This  partner  was  frequently  on  the  lips  of  Chicken 
Bill,  especially  when  our  hero  was  in  his  cups.  He 
was  always  mentioned  with  a  gush  of  tears,  this 
partner,  and  his  name  as  furnished  by  Chicken  Bill 
was  Film  Flam  Murphy.  Flim  Flam  had  met  death 
somewhere  in  the  Gunnison  country  while  making 
good  his  name,  and  passed  with  the  smoke  of  the 
Colt's-44  that  dismissed  him.  But  Chicken  Bill 
reverenced  the  memory  of  this  talented  man  and  was 
ready  to  honor  him,  and,  having  staked  out  his  claim 
with  the  fraudulent  purpose  aforesaid,  filed  on  it 
appropriately  as  "  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy." 

It  would  be  unjust  to  the  intelligence  of  Timber- 
line  to  permit  one  for  a  moment  to  suppose  that  the 
dullest  of  her  male  citizenry  lived  unaware  of  the  ig 
noble  plans  of  Chicken  Bill.  That  he  proposed  to 
salt  a  claim  and  therewith  ensnare  the  stranger  with 
in  the  local  gates  were  truths  which  all  men  knew. 
But  all  men  cared  not ;  and  mention  of  the  enter 
prise  when  the  miracle  of  Chicken  Bill  at  work 
found  occasional  comment  over  the  bars,  aroused 
nothing  save  a  sluggish  curiosity  as  to  whether 
Chicken  Bill  would  succeed.  No  thought  of  warn 
ing  the  unwary  arose  in  the  Timberline  heart. 

"  It's  the  proper  play/'  observed  Pike's  Peak  Mar 
tin,  representative  of  Timberline  feeling,  "  to  let 
every  gent  seelect  his  own  licker  an'  hobble  his  own 
hoss.  If  Chicken  Bill  can  down  anybody  for  his 
bankroll  without  making  a  gun  play  to  land  the 
trick,  thar's  no  call  for  the  public  to  interfere." 

373 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Chicken  Bill  added 
to  his  ornate  scheme  of  claim-salting  a  plain  affair 
of  the  heart.  The  lady  to  thus  cast  her  spell  over 
Chicken  Bill  was  known  as  Deadwood  Maggie  and 
flourished  a  popular  waitress  in  the  Belle  Union 
Hotel.  Timber'line  thought  well  of  Deadwood  Mag 
gie,  and  her  place  in  general  favor  found  sugges 
tion  in  a  remark  of  Pike's  Peak  Martin. 

"  Deadwood  Maggie,"  observed  that  excellent 
spirit,  as  he  replaced  his  glass  on  the  Four  Flush 
bar  and  turned  to  an  individual  who  had  been  guilty 
of  words  derogatory  to  the  lady  in  question ;  "  Dead- 
wood  Maggie  is  a  virchoous  young  female,  an'  it 
shore  frets  me  to  hear  her  lightly  allooded  to." 

As  Pike's  Peak  Martin's  disapproval  took  the  vio 
lent  form  of  smiting  the  maligner  upon  the  head 
with  an  8-inch  pistol,  the  social  status  of  the  lady 
was  ever  after  regarded  as  fixed. 

Chicken  Bill  was  not  the  one  to  eat  his  heart  in 
silence,  and  his  passion  was  but  one  day  old  when 
he  laid  hand  and  fortune  at  Deadwood  Maggie's 
feet.  That  maiden  for  her  part  displayed  a  sus 
picious  front,  born  perhaps  of  an  experience  of  the 
perfidy  of  man.  Deadwood  Maggie  was  inclined 
to  a  scorn  of  Chicken  Bill  and  his  proffer  of  in 
stant  wedlock. 

"  Not  on  your  life!"  was  Deadwood  Maggie's 
reply. 

But  Chicken  Bill  persisted;  he  longed  more  ar 
dently  because  of  this  rebuff.  To  soften  Deadwood 

374 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

Maggie  he  threw  a  gallant  arm  about  her  and  drew 
her  to  his  bosom. 

"  Don't  be  in  sech  a  hurry  to  lose  me,"  said 
Chicken  Bill  on  this  sentimental  occasion. 

Deadwood  Maggie  was  arranging  tables  at  the 
time  for  those  guests  who  from  mine  and  store  and 
bar-room  would  come,  stamping  and  famishing,  an 
hour  later.  Chicken  Bill  and  she  for  the  moment 
had  the  apartment  to  themselves.  Goaded  by  her 
lover's  sweet  persistency,  and  unable  to  phrase  a 
retort  that  should  do  her  feelings  justice,  Deadwood 
Maggie  fell  to  the  trite  expedient  of  breaking  a  but 
ter-dish  on  the  head  of  Chicken  Bill. 

"  Now  pull  your  freight,"  said  she,  "  or  I'll  chunk 
you  up  with  all  the  crockery  in  the  camp." 

Finding  Deadwood  Maggie  obdurate,  Chicken 
Bill  for  the  nonce  withdrew  to  consider  the  situa 
tion.  He  was  in  no  sort  dispirited ;  he  regarded  the 
butter-dish  and  those  threats  which  came  after  it 
as  marks  of  maiden  coyness;  they  were  decisive  of 
nothing. 

"  She  wasn't  in  the  mood,"  said  Chicken  Bill,  as 
he  explained  his  repulse  to  the  bar-keeper  of  the 
Four  Flush  Saloon ;  "  but  I'll  get  my  lariat  on  her 
yet.  Next  time  I'll  rope  with  a  larger  loop." 

"  That's  the  racket !  "  said  the  bar-keeper. 

Chicken  Bill  in  a  small  way  was  a  gifted  rascal. 
After  profound  contemplation  of  Deadwood  Mag 
gie  in  her  obstinacy,  he  determined  to  win  her 
with  the  conveyance  of  a  one-quarter  interest  in  The 

375 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

Film  Flam  Murphy.  Deadwood  Maggie  knew 
nothing  of  the  worthlessness  of  The  Flim  Flam 
Murphy.  Chicken  Bill  would  represent  it  to  her 
as  a  richer  strike  than  Old  Man  Granger's  Old  Age 
Mine.  He  would  give  her  one-quarter.  There 
would  be  no  risk;  Deadwood  Maggie,  when  once 
his  wife  and  getting  a  good  figure  for  the  mine, 
would  make  no  demur  to  selling  to  whatever  tender 
foot  he  might  dupe.  This  plan  had  merit;  at  least 
one  must  suppose  so,  for  the  soul  of  Deadwood 
Maggie  was  visibly  softened  thereby. 

"  I  must  have  you,  Maggie,"  wooed  Chicken  Bill, 
w^hen  he  had  put  forth  the  sterling  character  of  The 
Flim  Flam  Murphy  and  expressed  himself  as  de 
termined  to  bestow  on  her  the  one-fourth  interest, 
a  conveyance  whereof  in  writing  he  held  then  in 
his  hand ;  "  I  can't  live  without  you.  When  you 
busted  me  with  that  yootensil  you  made  me  yours 
forever.  I  swear  by  this  gun  I  pack,  I'll  not  outlive 
your  refusal  to  wed  me  longer  than  to  jest  get  good 
an'  drunk  an'  put  a  bullet  through  my  head." 

Who  could  resist  such  love  and  such  hyperbole? 
Deadwood  Maggie  wept;  then  she  took  the  deed  to 
the  one-fourth  interest  in  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy, 
kissed  Chicken  Bill,  and  said  she  would  drift  into 
his  arms  as  his  wife  at  the  end  of  two  months. 
Chicken  Bill  objected  strenuously  to  such  a  recess 
for  his  affections,  but  with  the  last  of  it  was  driven 
to  yield. 

There  came  a  time  when  The  Flim  Flam  Mur- 

376 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

phy  salted  to  the  last  degree  of  salt  was  as  perfect 
a  trap  for  a  tenderfoot  as  any  ever  set.  And  as 
though  luck  were  seeking  Chicken  Bill,  a  probable 
prey  stepped  from  the  stage  next  day. 

Chicken  Bill  and  the  stranger  were  seen  in  prompt 
and  lengthy  conference.  Timberline,  looking  on, 
grinned  in  a  tolerant  way.  For  two  days  Chicken 
Bill  and  the  stranger  did  nothing  but  explore  the 
drift,  inspect  the  timbering,  and  consider  specimens 
taken  from  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy. 

At  last  the  stranger  filled  ten  small  canvas  sacks 
with  specimens  of  ore  and  brought  them  into  camp 
on  a  buckboard  to  be  assayed.  Chicken  Bill  was 
with  him;  and  pleading  internal  pains  that  made 
it  impossible  to  ride  upright,  our  wily  one  lay  back 
with  the  bags  of  specimens  while  the  stranger  drove. 
From  time  to  time  the  astute  Chicken  Bill,  having 
advantage  of  rough  places  in  the  canyon's  bed  which 
engaged  the  faculties  of  the  stranger,  emptied  some 
two  or  three  quills  of  powdered  gold  into  each  speci 
men  sack  by  the  ingenius  process  of  forcing  the 
sharpened  point  of  the  quill  through  the  web  of  the 
canvas,  and  blowing  the  treasure  in  among  the  ore. 

"  It's  a  cinch !  "  ruminated  Chicken  Bill,  when  he 
had  completed  these  improvements.  Then  he  re 
freshed  himself  from  a  whiskey  flask,  said  that  he 
felt  better,  and  climbed  back  beside  the  stranger  on 
the  buckboard' s  seat. 

There  came  the  assay  next  day.  With  that  cere 
mony  Chicken  Bill  had  nothing  to  do,  and  could  only 

377 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

wait.  But  he  owned  no  misgivings;  there  would 
come  but  one  result;  the  ore  would  show  a  richness 
not  to  be  resisted. 

Chicken  Bill  put  in  his  time  preparing  Deadwood 
Maggie  for  the  sale.  He  told  her  that  not  a  cent 
less  than  sixty  thousand  dollars  would  be  accepted. 

"  It's  worth  more,"  declared  Chicken  Bill,  "  but 
me  an'  you,  Maggie,  ain't  got  the  long  green  to  de 
velop  it.  Our  best  play  is  to  cash  in  if  we  can  get 
the  figure." 

But  disaster  was  striding  on  the  trail  of  Chicken 
Bill.  That  evening,  as  Deadwood  Maggie  was  re 
turning  to  the  Belle  Union  from  the  Dutch  Woman's 
Store,  to  which  mart  she  had  been  driven  for  a 
tooth-brush,  she  was  blasted  with  the  spectacle  of 
Chicken  Bill  and  a  Mexican  girl  in  confidential  con 
verse  just  ahead.  Deadwood  Maggie,  a  bit  violent 
of  nature,  had  been  in  no  wise  calmed  by  her  several 
years  on  the  border.  While  not  wildly  in  love, 
still  her  impulse  was  to  dismantle,  if  not  dismem 
ber,  the  senorita  thus  softly  whispering  and  being 
whispered  to  by  the  recreant  Chicken  Bill.  But 
on  second  thought  Deadwood  Maggie  restrained 
herself.  She  would  observe  the  full  untruth  of 
Chicken  Bill. 

The  next  day,  when  Chicken  Bill  called  on  Dead- 
wood  Maggie,  he  was  met  with  a  smothering  flight 
of  table  furniture  and  told  never  to  come  back. 

It  was  a  crisis  with  Chicken  Bill.  The  assay 
had  been  a  victory  and  the  stranger  stood  ready, 

378 


PIKE'S  PEAK  MARTIN. 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

cash  in  hand,  to  pay  the  sixty  thousand  dollars  de 
manded  for  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy.  Chicken  Bill 
felt  the  necessity  of  getting  the  money  without  de 
lay.  Any  marplot,  whether  from  drink  or  that 
mean  officiousness  which  hypocrites  call  "  con 
science,"  might  say  the  word  that  would  arm  the 
tenderfoot  with  a  knowledge  of  his  peril.  But 
Chicken  Bill  could  not  come  to  speech  with  Dead- 
wood  Maggie.  In  a  blaze  of  jealousy,  that  wronged 
woman  would  begin  throwing  things  the  moment 
he  appeared.  As  a  last  resort,  Chicken  Bill  dis 
patched  the  bar-keeper  of  the  Four  Flush  to  Dead- 
wood  Maggie.  This  diplomat  was  told  to  set  forth 
the  crying  needs  of  the  hour,  Chicken  Bill  promis 
ing  friendship  for  life  and  five  hundred  dollars  if 
he  made  Deadwood  Maggie  see  reason. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  bar-keeper  returned,  bleed 
ing  from  a  cut  over  his  eye. 

"  Did  it  with  a  stove-lifter,"  he  explained,  as  he 
laved  the  wound  in  a  basin  at  the  corner  of  the  bar. 
"  Say !  you  can't  get  near  enough  to  that  lady  to 
give  her  a  diamond  ring." 

Chicken  Bill  made  a  gesture  of  despair;  he  saw 
that  Deadwood  Maggie  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

But  the  sale  of  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy  must  go 
on.  Chicken  Bill  sought  the  tenderfoot.  He  found 
him  with  a  smile  on  his  face  reading  the  report  of 
The  Flim  Flam  Murphy  assay.  Chicken  Bill 
guardedly  explained  that  he  had  a  partner,  name  not 
given,  who  objected  to  the  sale.  The  partner  held 

379 


THE  BLACK  LION  INN. 

a  one-quarter  share  in  The  Film  Flam  Murphy. 
The  stranger,  who  knew  it  all  along  from  the  rec 
ords,  pondered  briefly.  Finally  he  broke  the  si 
lence  : 

"Would  Chicken  Bill  sell  his  three-quarters?" 

Chicken  Bill  composed  his  face.  Chicken  Bill 
would  sell. 

Nothing  is  big  in  the  Southwest;  transactions  of 
millions  are  disposed  of  while  one  eats  a  flap-jack. 
In  an  hour  the  stranger  had  acquired  The  Flim 
Flam  Murphy  interest  which  was  vested  in  Chicken 
Bill ;  in  two  hours  that  immoralist  was  speeding  by 
vague  trails  to  regions  new,  forty-five  thousand  dol 
lars  in  his  belt  and  a  soreness  in  his  heart. 

Timberline  felt  a  quiet  amusement  in  the 
situation.  It  leaned  back  and  waited  in  a  superior 
way  for  the  stranger  to  set  up  the  low  wail  of  the 
robbed.  The  outcry  couldn't  be  long  deferred;  the 
fraud  must  be  soon  unmasked  since  the  development 
of  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy  was  gone  about  with 
diligence  and  on  a  dazzling  scale. 

But  the  stranger  did  not  complain. 

Two  weeks  were  added  to  that  vast  eternity  which 
had  preceded  them  and  the  sobered  sentiment  of 
Timberline  began  to  think  it  might  better  investi 
gate.  Timberline,  however,  would  proceed  with 
caution ;  missing  its  laugh,  it  must  now  guard  it 
self  against  being  laughed  at. 

It  turned  as  the  wise  ones  had  begun  to  appre 
hend.  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy  was  a  two-million- 

380 


THE  FLIM  FLAM  MURPHY. 

dollar  wonder.  The  talented  Chicken  Bill  had  over 
reached  himself.  With  no  hope  beyond  a  plan  to 
salt  a  claim,  he  had  not  thought  to  secure  an  assay 
for  himself.  The  Flim  Flam  Murphy  loomed  upon 
mankind  as  Timberline's  richest  strike. 

Pike's  Peak  Martin  was  the  first  to  collect  him 
self.  Crawling  from  beneath  that  landslide  of 
amazement  which  had  caught  and  covered  Timber- 
line,  he  visited  the  Belle  Union  with  a  resolved  air. 
Pointedly  but  fully  Pike's  Peak  Martin  tendered 
himself  in  marriage  to  Dead  wood  Maggie.  That 
lady  did  not  hurl  a  butter-dish;  such  feats  would 
seem  too  effervescent  on  the  part  of  a  gentlewoman 
worth  five  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Deadwood  Maggie  blushed  with  drooping  lids 
as  she  heard  the  words  of  Pike's  Peak  Martin. 

"  Which  your  offer  shore  makes  a  hit  with  me," 
murmured  Deadwood  Maggie.  Then,  when  a  mo 
ment  later,  her  head  lay  on  Pike's  Peak  Martin's 
shoulder  like  some  tired  flower  at  rest,  Deadwood 
Maggie  gave  a  sigh,  and  lifting  her  eyes  to  the  deep 
inquiring  gaze  of  Pike's  Peak  Martin,  she 
whispered :  "  You're  the  only  gent  I  ever  loved." 


THE  END. 


BY  OWEN  WISTER 


THE  JIMMY  JOHN  BOSS,  and  Other  Stories. 
Illustrated.  $i  50. 

LIN  MCLEAN.  Illustrated  by  FREDERIC  REM 
INGTON.  Post  8vo,  Ornamented  Cloth,  $i  50. 

There  is  a  uniformity  about  the  merit  of  Mr.  Owen  Wister's 
work  which  is  in  itself  engaging.  .  .  .  His  pages  have 
that  mark  of  thoroughness  which  is  so  rare  in  contemporary 
fiction.  Success  has  not  hurried  his  pen  nor  has  fashion  in 
clined  him  to  turn  towards  sensationalism,  to  seek  effects 
which  will  not  come  of  themselves.  ,  *  .  His  latest  volume 
is  full  of  episode ;  it  is  romantic,  pathetic,  droll,  dramatic,  and 
invariably  veracious.  .  .  .  Mr.  Wister  writes  as  if  this 
striking  existence  he  depicts  were  as  natural,  as  matter-of- 
fact,  as  the  existence  of  an  Eastern  clerk.  From  this  method 
springs  his  charm.  Lin  McLean  becomes  a  veritable  com 
panion  of  the  reader,  and  the  latter  follows  his  fortunes  with 
downright  solicitude,  sympathizing  with  the  man's  woes, 
rejoicing  in  his  happiness  and  in  his  extraordinary  flow  of 
animal  spirits. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

RED  MEN  AND  WHITE.  Stories.  Illustrated 
by  FREDERIC  REMINGTON.  Post  8vo,  Orna 
mented  Cloth,  $i  50. 

Desperadoes,  good  and  bad,  have  been  done  before;  red 
savages  and  white  semi-savages,  gamblers,  traders,  miners, 
ranchmen,  and  the  whole  wicked  world  of  the  border  have 
been  done  before,  though  never,  I  think,  so  well  as  Mr.  Wis 
ter  has  done  them.  But  the  politicians  of  the  far  West,  with 
their  various  origins  North  and  South,  remained  for  him, 
and  he  has  made  them  immortal;  or,  if  not  quite  that,  then 
he  has  made  them  what  they  really  are,  and  that  is  perhaps 
more  difficult.— W.  D.  HOWELLS. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre 
paid  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  Canada,  or  Mexico,  on 
receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  FKEDEKIC   REMINGTON 


SUNDOWN  LEFLARE.     Short  Stories.     Illustrations 
by  the  Author.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

Sundown  Leflare  is  not  idealized  in  Mr.  Remington's  handling 
of  him.  He  is  presented  just  as  he  is,  with  his  good-humor  and 
shrewdness  and  indomitable  pluck,  and  also  with  all  his  supersti 
tion  and  his  knavery.  But  he  is  a  very  realistic,  very  human  char 
acter,  and  one  whom  we  would  see  and  read  more  of  hereafter. — 
Boston  Journal. 

CROOKED  TRAILS.    Illustrated  by  the  Author.    8vo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  $2  00. 

Mr.  Remington  as  author  and  artist  presents  a  perfect  combina 
tion  . — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

Picture  and  text  go  to  form  a  whole  which  the  reader  could  not 
well  grasp  were  it  not  for  the  supplementary  quality  of  each  in  its 
bearing  upon  the  other. — Albany  Journal. 

PONY    TRACKS.      Illustrated  by  the  Author.      8vo, 

Half  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  75. 

This  is  a  spicy  account  of  real  experiences  among  Indians  and 
cowboys  on  the  plains  and  in  the  mountains,  and  will  be  read  with 
a  great  deal  of  interest  by  all  who  are  fond  of  an  adventurous 
life.  No  better  illustrated  book  of  frontier  adventure  has  been 
published. — Boston  Journal. 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

B^T"  Any  of  the  above  works  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid, 
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2?  ISM 


SEC.  CIR.JUL  22  '77 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


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